Family Fractures Sharpened by Stillness and Secrets

Read Time:5 Minute, 24 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
The Sparrow in the Chimney (Der Spatz im Kamin)
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Genre: Drama
Year Released: 2024, 2025
Runtime: 1h 57m
Director(s): Ramon Zürcher
Writer(s): Ramon Zürcher
Cast: Maren Eggert, Britta Hammelstein, Andreas Döhler, Luise Heyer, Milian Zerzawy
Where to Watch: in theaters beginning August 1, 2025

RAVING REVIEW: There’s a kind of dread that doesn’t arrive with screams, but with silence. THE SPARROW IN THE CHIMNEY is soaked in that specific discomfort — an eerie stillness that hovers over every frame, each interaction brimming with withheld emotions and domestic disquiet. The final chapter in Ramon Zürcher’s loosely connected “animal trilogy” is his most blistering and refined yet — a psychological slow burn that turns a seemingly mundane family gathering into an experience as suffocating as it is hypnotic.

The setup is deceptively simple. Karen (Maren Eggert), now living in her deceased mother’s home with her husband, Markus (Andreas Döhler), and their children, hosts her sister, Jule (Britta Hammelstein), and Jule’s family for a birthday weekend. But what should be a pleasant visit unearths years of repressed resentment, buried grief, and quiet devastation. As the walls close in, so too do the emotions that have long gone unspoken.

Zürcher’s direction is surgical, evoking discomfort without overt spectacle. Rather than leaning on melodrama or explosive conflict, he captures the alienation and volatility of life through glances, posture, and physical space. Every room becomes a stage, and each interaction carries the weight of unsaid histories. There’s a kind of formal precision at play — static shots, long takes, minimal camera movement — but within that rigidity, chaos simmers.

Eggert is mesmerizing in the lead role. Her portrayal of Karen is a masterclass in internalized emotion — there’s a constant push and pull between control and collapse. You feel the exhaustion behind her eyes, the way she’s been carrying not just grief but generations of expectation. Hammelstein, as Karen’s sister, offers a quieter counterpoint — less overtly strained, but equally haunted. The contrast between them creates a believable sibling dynamic where intimacy and irritation constantly coexist.

But this isn’t just about two sisters. Zürcher fills the house with emotional landmines — whether it’s through the curious observations of the children or the tension between spouses. No one is innocent, and no interaction is casual. Even the architecture feels complicit; the creaking doors and narrow hallways trap characters in a psychological maze they can’t navigate.

THE SPARROW IN THE CHIMNEY doesn’t follow a traditional narrative arc. It’s elliptical and sometimes surreal, blurring the lines between psychological realism and expressive horror. Some moments lean into almost Lynchian territory, where reality wobbles just enough to suggest something deeper — not supernatural, but emotionally spectral.

The title’s metaphor becomes clearer as the film unfolds. A sparrow stuck in a chimney isn’t just trapped — it’s flailing in a place that once promised safety. Much like Karen, who’s haunted by the memory of a mother she can’t mourn, and a role that’s both expected and unbearable. The house becomes a character of its own, a space that absorbs every insult and reflects it with quiet hostility.

What makes the film resonate is how personal it feels, even as it keeps its characters emotionally distant. In interviews, Zürcher has described the film as a plea for freedom — not in the political sense, but in the deeply personal one: the ability to shed inherited trauma, to reject roles we didn’t choose, to breathe without guilt, finally. It’s a queer story without needing to be explicitly about queerness — a rejection of masks, of pretenses, of suffocating politeness.

That said, it demands patience. The pacing is deliberate, sometimes punishing. For those unfamiliar with Zürcher’s work or European psychodrama in general, it may feel alien or impenetrable. But for those willing, the payoff is piercing. It’s not about catharsis through action — it’s about recognition. The pain of seeing yourself or your family mirrored in a long-held stare or a passive-aggressive smile.

The technical craft is precise across the board. Alex Hasskerl’s cinematography captures the sterile intimacy of domestic life with a painter’s eye. The editing — done by Zürcher himself — creates a rhythmic unease, while Balz Bachmann’s minimalist score subtly underlines the emotional dissonance. This is not a loud film, but it echoes.

THE SPARROW IN THE CHIMNEY is not about explosions or revelations. It’s about fractures, small and slow, that eventually split the floor beneath you. It’s a film about family, but not in the way that comforts. It’s about what’s inherited, what’s unspoken, and what happens when the roles we’re forced to play finally stop fitting. It leaves you unsettled, not just because of what happens, but because of how deeply it understands the damage that doesn’t need words to be felt.

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