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7.2/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 7.2/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Marysa remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have a soft spot for older, moody European dramas, absolutely. It is a dense, gray, and often painful watch. If you need pacing that feels like a modern thriller, you will probably be bored out of your mind within ten minutes. This is for the folks who like to sit with a character’s misery until it feels like their own.
The whole thing feels like it was filmed inside a heavy wool blanket. There is this oppressive, damp atmosphere that follows Marysa everywhere she goes. You can almost smell the sawdust and the sour milk in those village scenes.
There is a shot of a door closing that feels like a coffin lid slamming shut. It is not subtle, but in this context, it felt perfectly earned. The grandmother character? She is the real backbone here. She carries this weary wisdom that makes you realize she’s seen this exact tragedy play out a dozen times before.
The dialogue is sparse, which is a mercy. When characters do speak, it’s usually to throw a jagged piece of tradition at someone. It reminded me a bit of the suffocating weight you find in And Quiet Flows the Don, where the landscape itself seems to be rooting against the characters.
The village politics are so small-minded that they eventually become lethal. It is not a war movie, even though the boyfriend runs off to fight. The real war is happening in the kitchen, in the fields, and behind those heavy wooden doors. It’s funny—well, not funny—how much a father’s pride can ruin a life.
I found myself zoning out during some of the wider shots, but then a close-up would pull me right back. The actors have faces that look like they’ve been carved out of wood. There’s a specific look of defeat in Marysa’s eyes that I’m going to be thinking about for a while.
It’s not a fun ride. It’s a sad one. Sometimes that’s enough.