In a dim living room of a well-appointed apartment, the tension between two women feels almost tangible. The unexpected guest speaks with quiet intensity, rejecting pity as a sign of superiority and disdain. The conversation spirals to a larger truth: the problem is not hers alone; it involves the women, their children, and society at large. The subject is incest, and the speaker carries the trauma of abuse endured from age thirteen at the hands of her father, the second husband to the other woman living in the home.
This scene opens one of the early moments of the documentary Una Familia, shown at the Berlinale. Christine Angot, a French writer making her directorial debut, uses the film to examine not only paternal abuse but also the complicity of those who knew and did nothing. Across the documentary, Angot also engages with her former husband, a survivor of sexual assault, and faces her biological mother. Angot has long treated the father-daughter dynamic as a throughline in her work, beginning with the 1999 novel Incest, which quickly sparked controversy. Critics labeled her an exhibitionist and a liar, and many expected her to perform the role of the victim in interviews while a so-called expert psychoanalyzed her on air. She rejected that script and has never softened her stance to fit someone else’s expectations.
Angot has repeatedly pushed back against public reactions. When asked if people should believe her, she cites a MeToo-era slogan she detests: I believe you. But belief is not the point. Compassion, she argues, can become a form of abuse, a tool of superiority and contempt. The core issue, she emphasizes, is the incest itself, not whether she is believed. Her stance challenges audiences to look beyond narratives of tragedy to what those stories reveal about power, privacy, and accountability.
The forthcoming release of Una Familia in France is expected to provoke strong responses. Angot has already faced legal challenges from the father’s second widow, who accuses her of invading privacy by recounting the events described at the start of these notes. In this context, Angot poses broader questions about privacy and crime. How can a society claim to respect private life while crimes occur behind closed doors? How does a family shield perpetrators by calling it private life, and who bears the burden when a crime is used to protect a family’s image?
Isabelle Huppert returns in a new project from South Korean director Hong Sangsoo. The third film, A Traveller’s Needs, joins the director’s recurring themes, echoing the clash of cultures evident in Seúl and Paris, as seen in In Another Country. Huppert portrays a woman who teaches French in Korea and navigates life with a casual arrogance toward those around her, perhaps fueled by a steady stream of alcohol. Early in the festival’s competition, some see potential for greater depth in the character. Yet the film appears more focused on contrasts than on deep characterization. Both In Another Country and Claire’s Camera are frequently cited as among Hong’s best by devoted fans, while A Traveller’s Needs does not seem poised to enter that elite group.
A new documentary by Victor Kossakovsky also premieres in competition. His approach invites contemplation in a manner reminiscent of his earlier Aquarela, a meditation on climate change through water. In contrast to Gunda, which followed farm animals, Architecton centers on rethinking architecture to reduce environmental impact. The filmmaker’s reflections feel lighter and more impressionistic than exhaustive, inviting viewers to savor striking visuals: sprawling urban landscapes, ancient structures, and stones that crash and collide in orchestrated explosions designed to extract raw materials. The work rewards patience and attention, offering a sensory experience that encourages audiences to consider the broader consequences of built environments on the planet, even if its argumentative core remains less forceful than the visuals.