18/03/2025 - Justine Bauer’s film, which scooped an award at the Mons Love International Film Festival, is a look at German rural life, encompassing matriarchy and the cyclical nature of time

Smell of Burnt Milk [+see also:
interview: Justine Bauer
film profile], Justine Bauer’s feature debut, which scooped the 40th Anniversary Award for Emerging Talent at the Mons Love International Film Festival (see the news), stands out for its authentic and emotional portrayal of rural life in Germany. Set during an idyllic, languid, sensual summer, the film follows Katinka, a young woman determined to continue her family’s farming tradition despite the looming economic challenges facing the sector. The film’s temporal unity, clearly tied to the summer solstice, allows the female protagonists, even as they continue their hard work (from hay harvesting to milking), to pause and reflect on the present and the future. Among the many ancestral customs, bathing in the river emerges as both a ritualistic practice and a moment of dialectical exchange between the young women.

Set in Baden-Württemberg, the film draws on Bauer’s own upbringing on an ostrich farm, offering a unique and deeply personal perspective that focuses on female farmers, a group often overlooked in cinema. The movie presents the reality of rural life in a way that is both realistic and compelling, eschewing stereotypes. Katinka, played by Karolin Nothacker, is a strong and determined figure, embodying the challenges and aspirations of young women striving to keep their agricultural heritage alive.

For Bauer, matriarchy plays a crucial role in the narrative, encompassing themes of female resilience and determination, while also subtly critiquing traditional (and therefore patriarchal) societies. Perhaps unwittingly, Bauer rejuvenates the millennia-old ideas of Robert Graves in his masterpiece The White Goddess. Central to the story are the other key female characters: alongside Katinka, her grandmother and mother represent continuity and tradition in farm management, bringing with them wisdom and experience accumulated over the years despite the economic and social challenges ahead. Grandmother Emma, in particular, carries memories of a more prosperous past, adding a touch of nostalgia to the story. She is played by Lore Bauer, the director’s own grandmother, who sadly passed away last autumn. A remarkable display of acting versatility comes from the mother, played by Johanna Wokalek, whom keen observers will remember for her outstanding performance as Gudrun Ensslin in Uli Edel’s The Baader Meinhof Complex [+see also:
trailer
film profile]. Then there’s Anna, Katinka’s sister, who becomes pregnant by a local boy and embodies one of the film’s leitmotifs – the castration of the male in all its forms.

Here, castration assumes both symbolic and narrative significance, adding depth and complexity to the story. Once again, it recalls the ancestral customs of rural civilisation, echoing the myth of Kronos castrating his father Uranus with a sickle – a cyclical act (from which, notably, Aphrodite, goddess of love and sex, is born). However, this was traditionally a male ritual: the young son castrating the old father. Bauer, instead, takes us by the hand and leads us into an almost festive realm. The final scene, in which a llama (and a cat) is castrated, serves as a pivotal moment, reflecting the film’s central themes of emotional management and control over impulses – both in animals and in humans – while the vet, too, is a woman, and Katinka’s sisters appear to experience this particular family gathering with a sense of joyful ritual. In Bauer’s film, animals are also protagonists, earning their place in the end credits, and everyone just loves Anton, a gigantic ox. Meanwhile, human males play a far less central role, their utility limited, frustrating and ultimately frustrated. There is the young man reduced to a mere reproductive function with Anna, and the miserable neighbouring farmer who desperately tries – unsuccessfully – to raise public awareness about the agricultural crisis, ultimately resorting to suicide.

In summary, the themes that Bauer explores are not new (the UK’s The Levelling [+see also:
film review
trailer
film profile] and the USA’s Farmsteaders are recent examples), yet her perspective is both highly innovative and liminal, celebrating female triumph while embracing the cyclical nature of summer – a nod to folk-horror films such as The Wicker Man, Midsommar and Pearl.

Stylistically and in terms of its production, the film adopts a documentary-like approach, using non-professional actors who speak in an almost incomprehensible local dialect, adding an extra layer of authenticity. The 4:3 aspect ratio avoids the rhetoric of sweeping landscapes, instead focusing closely on the characters and their daily lives. The soundtrack, composed by Cris Derksen, blends seamlessly with the visuals, creating a contemplative and poetic atmosphere.

Despite its modest budget of around €30,000, the film won Best Production at the Munich Film Festival – an accolade that speaks to Bauer’s dedication and creativity, as she involved her family and friends in the production, proving that passion can indeed overcome financial limitations.

Smell of Burnt Milk was produced by Germany’s Kunsthochschule für Medien Köln.

(Translated from Italian)