The revenge drama is a genre often anchored by male leads whose gruff visages peer out at you as they confidently stride away from explosions. Turkish/German director Fatih Akin isn’t interested in bombast and violence, more the questions of how revenge inspires violence and vice versa. These themes are explored in his emotional drama In the Fade. What parts of ourselves do we give up to foster hate? Can that ever be a good thing? These queries are channeled through a haunting performance by Diane Kruger that focuses the audience even when the narrative gets in its own way.
Katja Sekerci (Kruger) is a wife and mother whose world is rocked when her husband and six-year-old son are killed in a hate-based bombing. When the killers are finally apprehended, Katja believes her nightmare is over. But when justice isn’t served, Katja goes on her own journey of trying to find closure, by any means necessary.
Cleanly broken into three chapters, In the Fade is a sketch of one woman’s grief in the face of hate. Katja and her husband Nuri (Numan Acar) are introduced to us in the midst of their prison wedding, where Nuri is doing time for selling drugs. The poster child for rehabilitation, Nuri gets his life together and their couple’s domestic drama is shown free of complications. Once the bomb explodes, ending Nuri’s life as well as the life of their son, people quickly jump on the idea that Nuri’s past is the reason for his demise. One of many premises In the Fade brings up is how, too often, victims’ pasts are put on trial, and how the things we engage in to cope end up working against us.
Akin doesn’t waste time on incidentals, something that, will all fine and good, ultimately ends up giving a simplistic view of Katja’s relationship with Nuri. The story is told through her perspective, so it’s understandable to illustrate their happiness. But chronic use of cell phone videos of the smiling family at the beach gives off the impression of perfection, undone by this callous crime.
Events have a tendency to play out conveniently – almost too much so. When Katja comes to the conclusion that her family was murdered by Nazis, it’s swept away. It isn’t until she’s ready to commit suicide that a fortuitous phone call proves her point correct. But this directness is almost too much, leading to the stakes and suspense being felt more in the second act of the film, entitled simply “Justice.” Katja’s grief soon segues into caring about the trial. The sterile, static cinematography leaves the audience gripped on the German court, wherein lawyers raise their hands to ask questions. For all Katja’s lawyer’s talk of guarantees, the audience knows the road to justice never runs smooth. But this is where the meat and potatoes of the film lies. The script crackles with emotion, particularly during a heated moment where the injuries of Katja’s son are detailed in graphic terms.
All of this wouldn’t work – and it really is shaky as is – without Diane Kruger. Dressed in black the entire film, she is an angel of death, a tortured harbinger of melancholy. As she listens to the horrors her child endured, her face becomes a mask, hiding anguish under a veneer of restraint that’s unleashed when she tries to attack one of the murderers in the courtroom. This outrage is further contained by her friend and lawyer, Danilo (Denis Moschitto). Moschitto and Kruger’s chemistry is intriguing because it’s rare to see characters like this playing off each other without a hint of romance or male superiority (the recent Molly’s Game is a prime example of the latter). Danilo is just as outraged by events as Katja. He feels for her, a look of horror passing his face when he tells her he’s driving his child to kindergarten the next morning. Their dichotomy and the way grief affects one directly and the other peripherally is a subtle dynamic that’s fascinating.
The film’s plotline, involving Nazis and hate crimes, is poignant in our world today. Unfortunately, the overall impact is muted by the revenge thriller element of the film, particularly in the final act. A text addendum at the end mentions a string of attacks on non-German people in the early 2000s, but this feels tacked on and superfluous. The need to tie into a true story is unnecessary, particularly in how race is playing on the U.S. stage.
In the Fade may feel distracted by its narrative shifts, but Fatih Akin and Diane Kruger are a combo worth seeing more from. Wracked with pain, suspense and ambiguous catharsis, you’ll keep thinking about the movie and its blend of beauty and trauma long after the end credits.
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