A scene from the movie Victoria.
Generations of film theorists have written about the violence of the cut. Editing lets a filmmaker shape reality, which is why politicians prefer to do important interviews live.
So this German heist thriller, filmed in 22 locations in a single dazzling, dizzying take, is more than simply an astounding cinematic
stunt - though it certainly is that. By depicting its action in real time, it achieves a naturalism that is as much psychological as narrative: a six-block taxi journey takes as long as a six-block taxi journey takes - we don't see just the start and end - and nothing much happens en route. More important, it's the kind of nothing, breathless and stuttering, that people who had just escaped from a shootout, as the two taxi passengers have, would engage in.
This is not to suggest the film drags. Occasional longueurs are part of its essence, not least because much of the dialogue that drives its propulsive script is largely improvised. The title character is a Spanish woman on a working holiday in Berlin.
In the first scene, Victoria leaves a nightclub and, cycling home, is accosted by a quartet of young men. Their well-lubricated state may put us on alert, but it transpires that they are fun-loving, even sweet.
Late-night, innocent romance blooms with the puppyish Sonne (Lau) but, an hour in, as we begin to relax, a much darker danger emerges: one of the quartet owes a favour to a former cellblock protector and it's called in. Suddenly we are in the middle of a headlong heist in which Victoria is the getaway driver and for the next hour the pace barely lets up.
