Wetlands

In the spirit of antagonism, Wetlands (Feuchtgebiete) begins with the text of a letter sent in response to its literary source material of the same name. ‘This book shouldn’t be read or adapted to film. It’s nothing more than the mirror of our sad society. Life has so much more to offer than the disgusting perversity of the human heart… We need God.’ Filmmaker David Wnendt (Combat Girls), directing and co-writing with fellow scribes Claus Falkenberg and Sabine Pochhammer (Little Paradise), revels in acting against the note’s wishes. His feature interpretation of Charlotte Roche’s German-language novel enjoys pushing boundaries and finds secular – not spiritual – reasoning for its take on burgeoning female sexuality.

Wnendt’s energy mirrors the enunciated outlook of Helen (Carla Juri, Someone Like Me), a teenager not so much rebellious as wishing to explore alternatives to the not-so-happy suburban life her now-divorced parents (The Taste of Apple Seeds’ Meret Becker and Hannah Arendt’s Axel Milberg) have pushed on her. Her promiscuity provides one outlet, as does her fascination with bodily fluids and compromising hygiene standards; her only other hobby, she notes, is growing avocados. An intimate shaving accident sees Helen admitted to hospital, where her urges swell in a constrained environment. In between disobeying doctors orders and scheming to reunite her mother and father over her sickbed, Helen determines to seduce a helpful nurse, Robin (Christoph Letkowski, TV’s Tatort), with stories of her proclivities.

As the film’s outspoken narrator and the embodiment of its irreverent attitude, Juri is gifted a role that’s part-challenge, part-cheek and all charm – wholly unlike the work typically offered to an actress of any age. There’s a twinkle in her eye that defies easy categorisations commonly applied to adolescent female protagonists, and a confidence that embraces the tandem workings of vulnerability and vivacity. Hers is not a victim’s guise, nor an aggressor’s – just that of an average girl struggling to navigate her maturity with ample bravado. Her comfort with the material provides Helen with sincerity beyond the evident shock value and the routine rationale, just as her rapport with Letkowski adds depth to an otherwise unsurprising romantic subplot.

Riding the same wave of assurance, Wetlands doesn’t avoid the extremities of its circumstances. Whether showing the application of haemorrhoid cream, the swapping of feminine products, or the fluid remnants of physical fun, it courts amusement and all-in acceptance in areas too infrequently equated with examinations of the fairer sex. Norwegian film Turn Me On, Goddamnit!, as well as recent American efforts It Felt Like Love and The To-Do List, have each made significant inroads into showing coming-of-age narratives about sexually autonomous young women, but none dreamed of – let alone reached – this level of detail. That astonishment springs as a result is an expected outcome, but the escalating behaviour depicted isn’t just a series of gender-reversed gross-out gags, but is grounded in the reality that teen tribulations, taboo-breaking and tomfoolery applies equally to both sexes.

With pop sensibilities that purposefully arouse attention, Wetlands‘ provocative content is packaged in a manner befitting the spirit of the genre. Playful visuals repeatedly probe the insides of the subject and stalk her skateboarding form along streets, train carriages and hospital corridors, while an upbeat, exuberant soundtrack echoes the appropriate vibe. The message is clear, as the frenetic, flashy style matches the frank storytelling; the method is sincere, both smart and sassy without dumbing down or deviating from its cause. What disappoints is an earnest but all-too-easy explanation – a stroke in step with accessibility, for certain, but an unnecessary justification for an approach and a narrative that doesn’t need such a conventional attempt to normalise its content.