preston’s review published on Letterboxd:
Jagged, opaque, elusive. Most films are closest to theatre out of the other arts, a select few are closest to music; this one may be closest to architecture. Rooms and entrapping spaces, ground vs. sky, the impulse to soar and the human form caught in the middle. Dance has a shape, movement creates a design, displacing an energy which juts out in the world like a physical thing and displaces the opposite energy (and, in doing so, kills; that whole sequence is dazzlingly edited). WW2 memories gnaw at a country which still hasn't dealt with its past, in a school - like West Germany itself - where evil thrives under the guise of democracy (Markos did get more votes, after all). A simulacrum, a washed-out copy of the flashy original that's nonetheless just as devoted to purely plastic qualities, building to a climax of prosthetics, pagan chanting and wild gyrations. Ultimately something of a grand folly, but we need those too.