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Götz Spielmann's film, Revanche, is not a thriller, nor a detective film, nor a porn film. When Alex, the low-level employee to Mr. Konency, a Viennese pimp, parks his stolen car in the woods, tossing off his bright orange jacket, and walks away leaving his dead girlfriend, Tamara, the Ukrainian prostitute, behind, the movie takes an unusual turn: no mad search for Alex, who was not detected by any bank camera; no arrest of the bank robbery; and no mad search by the slimy brothel owner, looking for a revenge killing of Alex, who had taken away his prime girl. Instead we are presented with a movie that instills reflection, contemplation, and, foremost, a sense of stillness in the shadow of this deadly drama.
Revanche leaves one with manifold sensations and impresses the spectator by what it omits: it does not play any background music other than the accordion played by Hausner, Alex's grandfather, the old farmer. It does not rush. Instead it allows one to linger and look at single images of water, forest, and fields for prolonged periods of time. Revanche does not manipulate the viewer by any extraneous, hyper-technical means; it allows one to get involved gradually in the story of four different principal characters — Alex, Tamara, Robert, and Susanne — who are all drawn together by curious circumstances and a set of fateful encounters.
“Revanche” means, of course, “revenge” in English, but it also possesses