Verbrannte Erde

Berlin, how beautiful you are. Your splashes of colour are always on a grey background, your sound is unpleasant, your light shines artificially, you seem crazy because you crazy people are a magnet, a Moloch, you are legendary, but why, for what? There's a heist film today, without the tinsel. One that lives less from suspense and action than from its mood. Minimalist, sparse, joyless, gloomy. Like Berlin, but different, because 'Scorched Earth' is certainly not gossipy and self-promoting. The characters are at the centre of life, not in a bubble. Scarred, lonely, disillusioned. Every straw means all in. And when it's over, well, that's just the way it is. I can't remember the content of its predecessor, but it doesn't matter, because this is an independent work. Not a bad one, on the contrary, but with the feeling of watching a better 'Tatort'. But without badly cast detectives and a director who thinks he's one. For the primitive 'Tatort' audience, however, this film is probably not for them after all - they are not being taken for fools here.