The Light

Tom Tykwer's latest film, Das Licht, is a visually arresting and symbolically charged meditation on modern disconnection and the elusive (Tykwer's special) quest to "put things back in their places." From the opening moments, the film's persistent rain sets a somber tone, serving as an external expression of the characters' inner turmoil-a constant reminder of the fluid boundaries between the living, the dead, and the imaginary.

At its core, Das Licht is a portrait of a fractured modern family. The father, a balding, semiretired hippie whose youthful heyday should have been in the vibrant 90s Berlin, now finds himself entrenched in the political white/greenwashing business. His exposed bald spot is not merely a physical trait; it symbolizes the void where once vibrant, left-wing ideals once resided - leaving behind only cynicism and dirty old habits. The mother, on the other hand, channels state funds into totally corrupted neocolonial business of building theaters in Africa. Meanwhile, the children are lost in a world of techno-drug-club parties or VR gaming, communicating rarely and without any real connection or understanding. In a particularly jarring intro subplot, the family's Polish housemaid dies on duty - her identity lost in the total indifference from employing family - only to be replaced by a Syrian woman. (I wonder, whether her death or death of the delivery guy reflect any of Tykwer's personal attitude towards them?) While this transition was probably meant to comment on shifting immigration demographics, it ends up feeling like a superficial, even clichéd, nod to trends that have long since passed their prime.

The film's second act shifts gears into a broader, more introspective quest for order and self-discovery. Here, the attempt to "fix reality" becomes a metaphor for the family's search for identity-an effort that is as much about reconciling with the past as it is about constructing an ideal yet-to-be-known world. One of the film's most ideologically explicit moments comes when a daughter confronts her parents with a scathing litany of their personal sins-a raw, unabashed moment of revisionism that is quintessentially German in its exploration of history and mistrust to previous generations.

Technically, Das Licht shines in many respects. The cinematography is a step forward from Tykwer's celebrated Lola rennt, capturing claustrophobic spaces and shifting perspectives with a meticulous, almost hyperreal precision. The film's choreography, whether in the dynamic interplay of staged sequences reminiscent of a carnival, ballet, or opera, or in the visceral, shaking imagery, serves to constantly remind us that we are witnessing an enactment on a grand, metaphorical stage rather than a slice of everyday reality.

Yet, the film is not without its flaws. Clocking in at nearly three hours, its runtime is at times burdensome; there are moments when the pacing lulls, and one might even find their attention drifting.

A particular note of levity is provided by the character Dio-a precocious boy who, with his persistent renditions of "Bohemian Rhapsody," assumes an announcement of his almost divine role that is to be revealed at the very end.

Ultimately, while Das Licht is packed with intriguing ideas and technical brilliance, it falls short of surpassing Tykwer's masterpiece, Lola rennt, the comparison to which he's sentences for life. The bar was set incredibly high with his own personal status, the rarity of his movies and the media hype around this premier, and although this film is an ambitious exploration of modern detachment, crisis of family, society and personality and the struggle to regain a sense of order, it never quite achieves the metaphysical narrative and emotional resonance that defined his earlier work. Tykwer's vision is expansive and thought-provoking, but here it remains a fascinating, if imperfect, experiment in capturing the fragmented nature of contemporary existence.