“SILENT FRIEND”

At the heart of all activity that drives humanity’s passion is the desire for connectivity. The reason we have made every venture to some new territory, toiled away at experimentation in hopes of novel discovery, and sought to forge new bonds with the individuals that surround us is always in pursuit of this task. It’s a pure enlightenment that is commonplace enough not to feel as if it is particularly special or unique. People have a habit of mistaking the familiar with the banal. However, these feelings are rooted so deep within us when receiving a parable that reflects this primal urge, told through introspective analysis or quiet interaction, a profound elation can take hold. The tales spun within “Silent Friend” look to unearth these desires and showcase what a powerful force they are, and it renders this portrait as a beautifully mesmerizing experience.

Within the botanical garden of a university town in Germany looms a massively impressive ginkgo tree. It stands erect and seemingly unchanged through time, though its complex internal system is observing all the human activity that passes by it. We see three distinct periods that orbit this massive figure. In 2020, the start of the pandemic left Tony (Tony Leung Chiu-wai), a neuroscientist from Hong Kong, stranded during lockdown. However, his research into the expansive brain activity of babies has a belief that his work could have a connection to the plant life that surrounds him. In 1972, Hannes (Enzo Brumm) is a young student who strikes up a friendship with Gundula (Marlene Burow), with a passion for botany. She is attempting to create a new kind of geranium, which sparks a strong intrigue within him to study as well. Then, in 1908, there is Grete (Luna Wedler), who has just been admitted as the first female student at the university. While bristling at first against the waves of oppression, her fascination with plants motivates her to conquer any adversity. Her burgeoning interest in photography gives her a new perspective on these organisms and begins to recognize a completely new worldview to study. All three revolve around the same place at different times but are on the same journey: to understand the connective tissue of this world and find a comfortable place within it to belong.

Director Ildikó Enyedi captures a hauntingly stunning exploration of the paths we take to find deep resonance with the world around us. The giant tree is the perfect vehicle to examine these events. It remains unmoved, still and wordless. Though just because life cannot be perceived by our naked eyes doesn’t mean it isn’t there. A character mentions that plant life is not translatable to a human timeframe. It’s measured through centuries of minutiae that we are incapable of noticing. Yet, there is a bounty of activity that occurs. Smoke that rises from a lit cigarette enters the microscopic cells, causing a reaction. A trail of vomit seeps into the earth and beckons the roots. A pounding rain storm signals a dramatic alert of life-sustaining material. These are huge, consequential actions that occur within the life of this organism. But to our eyes, we can only see the smoke blow away in the breeze, or the vomit lie dormant on the ground, or only notice the splash of raindrops and little else. These small incidents have enormous effects on the environment, just like every small step we take within our lives have similar reverberations. Enyedi chooses to demonstrate this within the tree with an impressive sound design, interpreting the minuscule growth as grandiose stretches and twists. But we come to understand this as a representation of the emotional growth within these characters as well. Her frames are quiet and still, but richly textured, such as the periods from decades ago that have a warm tone thanks to the 35mm cinematography, or the harsh and barren COVID era with its steely digital aesthetic. The filmmaking is detailed in crafting a landscape that is inviting to discover and feels thoughtful in its presentation.

What is also brilliant about Enyedi’s narrative is how it doesn’t opt for easy answers or identifiable parallels. In a more conventional story, we would see the direct ripple effects throughout this story. Something that happened to the tree at the turn of the century would make some kind of impact decades later, as if it were a timed bomb just waiting to detonate. Those kinds of simple correlations aren’t visible here. But, once again, this isn’t playing to the tempo of the human frame of reference. There’s a stronger introspection being mined from this thematic commentary. The central placement of this looming tree is the anchor of this universe. As our characters are drawn to its center of gravity, they expose the passions within themselves to deepen their relationships. Grete appears cut-off because of her breakthrough stature, but her singularity is what intensifies her studies, expands her curiosities, and reveals the shared interests of her peers. Hannes can’t find the emotional foundation to share the comradery his fellow students have, but being tasked to care for this small geranium has him finding passion for the entire ecosystem of life that was evasive before. The lockdowns have forced Tony into severe isolation, but in that loneliness comes an entirely new viewpoint to his research, one that evokes a broader understanding of the lust for knowledge and experience.

These are all complex topics. They move as fast as a firing synapse but are undetected, like the internal system of the ginkgo. The storytelling focuses on mundane actions that inform so much about the spirit. Watching these events unfold is intensely moving and uplifts the soul, recognizing a heartfelt inner beauty that is miraculous to discover. The one misstep the narrative does take is a subplot regarding a cantankerous groundskeeper who is skeptical of Tony’s work, interfering with his experiments until the two eventually come to an understanding that finds them on common ground. This isn’t the film’s most effective use of its two-and-a-half hour runtime, as it indulges in more hackneyed and sentimental tropes that don’t measure up to the more nuanced aspects that are infused throughout the film. Slyvester Groth has an engaging presence of his own, but it’s the one section of the story that falls flat when compared to the rest of the narrative, which is much more compelling.

The glory of these performances is in their ability to convey a layered system of emotion without ever resorting to histrionics, which is only appropriate given the tone of this material. The career of Tony Leung Chiu-wai has been built on the mastery of subtle acting, and while most of the time that naturalism may not seem impressive, he is still able to communicate a zeal for experimentation that concludes in a raw catharsis that is quite effective. Wedler is captivating straight away, especially in her first scene, as she battles a group of professors deciding on her attendance at the university and must battle their intellectual traps and sexist remarks. She’s remarkable but not infallible, attempting to hide her insecurities so they don’t overwhelm, and her portrayal is endlessly fascinating and endearing. Brumm ends up being the ensemble’s greatest asset. On the surface, he plays a man who refuses to overtly show his emotions. He intentionally cuts himself off from others and finds solace in his own mind. That slowly fades away, but this evolution is awoken by his recognition of that hidden life within flora. He builds his own contraptions to vocalize a kind of communication with this tiny plant, and this process is how his appreciation for the boundless joys of the world is awoken. It’s an incredible performance that finds those internal notes to play with impactful precision. Many will also note Léa Seydoux’s inclusion in this cast, but it’s a glorified cameo with not much to do. She’s serviceable, but it’s not a role that truly demonstrates her talents, and in all honesty, it isn’t meant to by the end.

The prevailing sentiment in “Silent Friend” is one that I found very similar to “Drive My Car.” Like Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s masterpiece, this is also a deeply reflective piece that is obsessed with human connections. It is a powerful force that builds the small but steady momentum which pushes us to new experiences that will have a great influence, in big and small ways. The quiet, somber introspection is what makes it all the more powerful, and that is precisely what Enyedi has accomplished here. Her storytelling is tender yet ferociously animated in its thematic weight. The directorial achievement is somber but achingly awe-inspiring. The performances are quiet but poignant in how moving and devastating that can be. The film is a bombastic symphony that barely registers above a whisper. That is exactly why it resonates so profoundly. It’s a masterful display of longing, but not just for the base urges that we can immediately quantify. It speaks to a more complex ideology that stirs from within and creates an alluring and exquisite work of art.