“It’s warm”

This phrase echoes across generations as a quiet mantra passed down. In Sound of Falling, warmth

becomes memory and illusion: a means of clinging to the past.

The film follows four generations of women living in the same farmhouse – a place marked by death,

silence, and inherited, unspoken pain. Their stories are interwoven together in a nonlinear, mosaic

fashion. Memories and bodies transcend generations. Their stories slowly intertwine like fragments of

a dream. Each scene adds a voice to a growing choir, rising in crescendo toward the final climax that

never explodes. It seems that when things fall, they make almost no sound here.

The pacing feels almost meditative, even frustratingly still at times. This stillness is deliberate,

creating a slow, dreamlike experience. At times, this pacing tested my patience. It felt like wading

through memory rather than narrative. On the one hand, this stillness creates room for pictures to take

hold. The weight of pain and ancestry become tangible – the past lays like a heavy blanket on the

present. As a character says in the movie; “funny how something can still hurt even when it is no

longer there”. However, this puts the viewer at a distance. I felt cut off from the characters. The film

rehashes the same concepts with little change, without allowing the viewer to fully enter their world.

This detachment is intensified by the frequent breaking of the fourth wall. The characters in Sound of

Falling gaze straight into the lens, as if daring us to look away. They know they’re being watched.

Instead of creating intimacy, it feels confrontational. We, as the viewers, are recognised, even

implicated, but never given full access to the characters’ inner lives. The viewer stays a viewer, not an

inhabitant.

In terms of sound, silence is crucial in the film – not just what is not said, but also what is not heard.

There is barely any nondiegetic sound (a sound that does not appear within the world of the film).

Music is used sparsely. The background noises, if any, are of crickets and floorboards creaking – and,

the occasional splashes of water from the lake which separates East from West Germany. This silence

creates tension. The first half hour of the viewing, I was uncomfortable with the widespread silence in

the movie theatre. But, the quiet also, in a way, becomes its distinctive power. You become acutely

aware of every sound when there is no music.

Visually, it is beautiful. The cinematography captures the slightest elements, such as sunshine in lake

water. Slowly, throughout the film, the home itself almost comes to life through the different

timelines.

Sound of Falling refuses to make itself simple. There is very little signposting as the movie switches

between the four generations and time periods. We roughly follow the movements of four women who

don’t seem to be related for a long period of the film. It is rather disorienting. If you are hoping for a

well-defined plot and simple arcs, Sound of Falling creates an uneasy feeling. However, such

frustration can be a feature of the design. The themes about generational pain seem to be echoed by

this disorientation. The women are never just themselves: they are positioned and reframed within the

boundaries of an unwelcome gaze. In this way, the silence and slowness becomes something more

than stylistic choices.

For some viewers, the film’s payoff is sufficient – a sort of reward for perseverance. For others, the

slow burn can last too long without being fully rewarding. The movie left me confused and

questioning my own understanding. Although the sentiment “it’s warm” follows through the

generations, the film leaves the viewer out in the cold. Thus, I would say, for those who are prepared

to persevere through the film, the sensory experience could surpass the demand for clarity.

Nonetheless, this is a movie that will linger with me for a long time.

Thank you to Stockholm International Film Festival for the collaboration, allowing Thea and me to

attend the screening of Sound of Falling