Woman Unknown Review – May el‑Toukhy’s Unflinching Portrait of Post‑War Shame

When May el‑Toukhy steps back onto the Venice stage with Woman Unknown, you can feel the weight of the past pressing against the screen. The film opens on a muted, almost monochrome Copenhagen, still rattling from the war’s after‑shocks. It’s not subtle – the occasional flash of scarlet, a painted swastika on a door, a crimson dress hanging like a silent accusation – but those splashes feel intentional, like Hitchcockian cues that pull you into the story’s nervous tension.

At the centre of that tension is Marie (a magnetic Mathilde Arcel), a maid‑turned‑nanny whose breath seems perpetually held, as if she’s bracing for the next reprimand. Her eyes dart, her mouth tightens, and the whole of her posture suggests a corset you can’t undo. This isn’t just a costume choice; it’s a visual metaphor for the internalized shame that the film explores.

Marie works for Christian (Carsten Bjornlund), a widowed glove‑maker who treats her with a mixture of paternalism and quiet desire. A fleeting hand‑caress on her cheek is enough to set the narrative’s gears grinding – her status in the house is precarious, and any misstep could expose a secret that the war‑scarred city would love to punish. The camera lingers on a pearl‑white wedding dress dangling in an empty closet, a kind of foreshadowing that feels both elegant and ominous.

When Karl (Thorbjorn Hedegaard), an old schoolmate from Marie’s hometown, re‑enters her life, the tension spikes. Their uneasy reunion, coupled with a visit to a doctor where Marie dutifully tops up her opium drip, hints at a past she’s trying desperately to keep buried. The script, co‑written with Maren Louise Kaehne, never spells everything out; it trusts the audience to read between the static, shadow‑filled frames.

Through a series of stark, almost documentary‑like interludes, we glimpse the real historical horror that inspired the story: women in occupied territories who were publicly shamed, hair shaved, clothes torn, and branded with swastikas for having relationships with German soldiers. These brutal vignettes serve as a backdrop that makes Marie’s personal dread feel systemic, not merely personal.

The cinematography by Jasper Spanning is deliberately restrained. Long, still shots of empty rooms echo Marie’s isolation, while sudden close‑ups—like the infamous scene where she is forced to swallow a mouthful of spit—push the audience into her spiraling panic. It’s uncomfortable, it’s raw, and it refuses to give you a tidy resolution.

Supporting characters add texture without stealing the focus. Esther (Marina Bouras), the ever‑watchful head maid, embodies the oppressive hierarchy of the household, while a snobbish tailor’s meticulous measurements underscore the social ladder Marie longs to climb but cannot fully join. Even the minor gang of men who terrorize unnamed women on the streets feel less like plot devices and more like an unflinching reminder of the era’s pervasive violence.

El‑Toukhy’s direction is unapologetically feminist, but in a way that may feel prickly to some viewers. She does not hand us a feel‑good empowerment story; instead, she shows how a woman’s body can be weaponized both by strangers and by the very people who claim to protect her. The film asks uncomfortable questions: Should private histories be exposed to public vengeance? How far does societal shame travel when it’s etched onto a wall in red?

In the end, Woman Unknown does not resolve Marie’s crisis in any tidy bow. The final frames linger on a door still marked with the Nazi insignia, a reminder that the scars of that era remain, whether visible or hidden. It’s a tough watch, but it’s also a necessary one, especially coming from the only female director in this year’s Venice competition.

For those who appreciate cinema that challenges rather than comforts, May el‑Toukhy delivers a daring, if brutally honest, portrait of a woman fighting the ghosts of a past that refuses to stay buried.