In the melody of Wallner's “In my Mind,” Christian Petzold's Afire opens with a tracking shot of receding trees, as a car is in motion. Through the glass window, the film shows Leon, a writer in his 30s, dozing in the passenger seat, his face bathed in the fading green and yellow, unaffected by the changing world. He is self-absorbed, but the soothing scenery suggests a kind of redemption. A world like poetry awaits his discovery. “Something’s not right,” his friend Felix says, pulling Leon from his reverie. “It’s misfiring.” Leon insists that he hears nothing. He is awake but inattentive to his surroundings, reminiscent of a dreamlike state. Finally, the car breaks down on the way to the holiday home.
An extreme long shot shows Leon sitting on a fallen tree with the luggage when Felix checks the path. The forest becomes overpowering. The shriek of birds prompts Leon to turn his head, peering deep into the woods, but he finds no anomalies. It's only when he hears the whir of helicopters that he stands up and examines his surroundings. “Felix,” he calls, frightened by his friend’s “hello” from behind. Enraged, Leon punches his friend; he is egoistic and proud, but the encroaching danger—later revealed to be a forest fire—alongside his friend’s trick indicates that he is not invincible. From the humming dryer and the dispersed lingerie upon arrival that indicates the presence of an unexpected housemate (Nadja) to Felix’s persistent invitation to go swimming, Leon can no longer engage with writing, his pride at risk.
Caspar David Friedrich - Moon Rising Over the Sea. Flickr, by Miguel Velasquez (2022).
A pivotal moment that challenges Leon's ego is when, during dinner, Nadja’s friend Devid, a lifeguard, recounts a one-night stand interrupted by a delivery man who threatened to “spray [him] gay” if he did not accept a rug. Nadja, acquainted with the tale, sporadically erupts in laughter, refills Leon’s glass, and dispels bugs for Devid. Felix, however, is drawn to the story with his brows furrowed. Devid asks Felix to smell his shirt, which he claims still contains the smell of the spray. When Felix lowers his head, Devid gives him an unexpected kiss. An amateur storyteller not only commands the screen for five minutes but physically performs the love that he wants the audience to experience. Jealous, Leon, the real writer, interrogates Devid about his job as a lifeguard, which angers Felix. The three friends leave the table and go for a swim; only Nadja turns her head back and asks, “Aren’t you coming?” But Leon is too stubborn to take this second chance. “My work won’t allow it.” Alone, Leon covers his face with his hands. “I’m such an arsehole,” he murmurs.
He is always late to epiphany. At the beach, Nadja chastises Leon for not noticing that his publisher Helmut has been admitted to an oncology ward. “You see nothing,” she says. Leon watches her back as she leaves. A jump cut fast-forwards to Leon burying his face in his hands, which mirrors his fragmented, distressed mental state. When he lowers his hands and looks up, the distant forest emits a large plume of smoke and fire, finally melting away his sense of self. He runs back to the house, informs Nadja to leave, and asks for forgiveness. “From the very first moment, I was in love with you,” he says, confessing his vulnerability. But this time, Nadja does not give him a second chance as the police arrive to report Felix and Devid's deaths in the forest fire. Ryuichi Sakamoto’s “Andata” plays in the background, soft like funeral music, grieving for the two pairs of lovers.
Akseli Gallen-Kallela, Scandinavian, Finnish, Burnt Forest 1904. Flickr, by Asar Studios (2015).
And the music continues to the montage narrated by Helmut based on Leon’s new book dedicated to Felix and Devid. Leon, the author, no longer owns his writing; instead, Helmut, the dying patient, becomes the unlikeable narrator, indicating a sense of redemption for Leon’s ignorance. Starting from a piglet burnt to death, the camera slowly tilts to reveal the forest reduced to stumps and ashes. The voice-over laments, “By the time they realized, it was too late. The fire was already around them.” The film cuts to a scene at the morgue. A close-up shot reveals two dark hands intertwined. Nadja weeps while Leon restrains his tears. Only the voice-over gives him a sense of interiority. “Instead of crying, he thought of the image of the lovers in Pompeii.” His friends die, yet in their passing, they teach Leon about love that goes beyond the self and life. The montage ends with Nadja leaving and Leon visiting the beach. At night, he sits down in the sand and looks at the glowing sea. It is a bit late, but the sea is forgiving.
Pompeii Sitting Man. Flickr, by Andrew Malone (2014).
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