Berlinale Review: The Ice Tower is Lucile Hadžihalilović's Most Enchanting Film to Date.

      If there is a filmmaker whose work can be characterized as “elemental cinema,” it is Lucile Hadžihalilović. Her 2015 film Evolution can easily be described as fluid, given its numerous scenes featuring water (and underwater moments), as well as the rhythmic flow that guides the enigmatic essence of its post-humanist narrative. One might consider Innocence to be grounded, with its arid soil where the woods hide secrets, while the San Sebastian Special Jury Prize-winning Earwig possesses both an ethereal and enigmatic quality. Hadžihalilović’s incorporation of elemental themes serves to transform the imagery on screen, adding a layer of ambiguity. However, their meanings are never completely elusive; at their core, these are stories about coming of age. Her latest film, The Ice Tower, is presented as her most accessible project to date, drawing from a more familiar source than before: Hans Christian Andersen's fairytale “The Snow Queen.”

      This connection is explicitly made with a voiceover that accompanies a stunning opening shot of a vast, ice-covered landscape, a small mountain village, and the diminutive figure of a girl traversing it. Jeanne (Clara Pacini) is a teenager sporting a bob haircut and a modest appearance, the eldest resident of a foster home, and thus takes on the role of the bedtime storyteller. In a nearly ritualistic fashion, she recounts the Snow Queen's mesmerizing beauty and her demand for a heart surrendered to an icy embrace—a doomed kind of romantic union. Yet even such apparent foreshadowing does not render the screenplay (co-written by Hadžihalilović and Geoff Cox) predictable.

      Jeanne is the first protagonist from Hadžihalilović to break free from her constraints right from the start: one day, she simply departs for the city (the time period is ambiguous, set somewhere in 1970s France), driven by a genuine desire to experience life. Her choice is marked by minimal conflict, suggesting that she is still on her path to maturity. Jeanne is impressionable—she is captivated by a group of teenagers gliding over a small ice rink, particularly a pirouetting brunette whose handbag she will later acquire. Jeanne begins to refer to herself as Bianca, which is fitting as the name means “white” in Italian, alluding to Snow White (Biancaneve). The most fascinating aspect of Jeanne / Bianca’s life beyond the foster home is that the basement she decides to stay in is a film set—not just any set, but a stylish adaptation of “The Snow Queen,” featuring the title character played by a renowned actress, Cristina van den Berg (noticing the mountain in her surname!), portrayed by Marion Cotillard.

      The two realms—the one in Jeanne's imagination and the film within the film—are always perilously intertwined. Some might label this as surrealism, a term frequently used to describe Hadžihalilović's method of world-building, yet it is much more nuanced. She eschews hierarchies, despite the insistence of the adults in her narratives. There is no “superior” reality; even the semi-magical or inexplicable occurrences enhance what exists in the protagonist's "real" world. This holds true for The Ice Tower as well, although it should be noted that the cinema itself (a technological first in Hadžihalilović’s oeuvre) is depicted with the charm of a fairytale.

      Whether embodying the Snow Queen or appearing as actress Cristina van den Berg, Cotillard is striking in every moment. This connection intensifies with each scene, with Cristina’s allure growing as the film unfolds. The Ice Tower is visually stunning, richly textured, and lavish; cinematographer Jonathan Ricquebourg’s smooth work ensures that the extended takes feel as glacial as the winter landscape.

      Hadžihalilović pays tribute to cinema as an enchanting force. Alongside Jeanne, who starts as a mere extra and is later promoted to stand-in and secondary character by Cristina herself, we glimpse behind the scenes, witnessing the shoot and all that transpires in between (including the drama and unspoken tensions). Nonetheless, the mise-en-scène always stands out: there is no “ugly” location in The Ice Tower, a film where nature, daily life, and the film shoot are all equally captivating, and every space feels magical through Jeanne’s eyes.

      While Andersen’s tale features a cursed mirror that distorts whatever is reflected, The Ice Tower employs mirrors, ice, and glass to create kaleidoscopic representations of the Queen’s domain and Jeanne’s worldview. Hadžihalilović's use of reflective surfaces possesses an elemental quality without overly focusing on their artifice. At times, the camera itself becomes a reflective device, reminiscent of glimpsing through textured glass which offered an eerie new outlook in Earwig; in this way, Hadžihalilović encourages us to embrace enchantment, fully