Sandra Hüller gives this thoughtful film a magnetic centre. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
She plays Erika Mann, chauffeuring her famous father Thomas around postwar Germany while her brother Klaus unravels on the phone from Cannes. Erika ends up as the family's shock absorber. August Diehl gives Klaus a raw, jittery despair, and Hanns Zischler plays Thomas as a Mann of very few words, which is a bold look for a Nobel laureate.
The black-and-white photography is gorgeous. Bombed streets and lined faces look carved from the same grey stone. Every ruined city they pass seems to echo some wreckage of their own, which gives each lofty speech about art and home a sting.
Near the end, father and daughter share a scene with barely a word between them. After all those speeches, their silence hit me hardest.
It's a measured film, and I left the cinema a bit underwhelmed. Since then, though, I keep thinking about it. Fatherland took its time to settle, and it's been opening up ever since.