Luz (2018)
With its surreal and minimalistic approach to possession, Luz is the film that single-handedly restored my faith in German cinema after the high bar set by Dark.
The opening scene is an exercise in hypnotic tension, deceptively simple in its setup: a man and a woman at a bar. He's a physician in a suit; she's a quiet presence in a white blouse. At first, he is visibly annoyed by her, yet something keeps him from leaving, even as he weathers her seemingly clumsy interruptions. When she finally approaches, he is captivated not just by her beauty, but by her sheer audacity.
She teases him with a challenge, as if asking both him and the viewer to give her a chance; a chance to tell a story. The progression of the man's intrigue perfectly mirrors our own as an audience. The woman's effect on him feels almost preternatural, a magnetic pull that transforms the mundane bar into a stage for something ominous.
These first twenty minutes are unforgettable. The sterile, blue-hued background, the silent waiter, the generic footage on the television. It all creates a clinical atmosphere that is somehow still thick with the smell of stale cigarettes. The setting is as bored as the man's night was, right before it was shattered by this strange and compelling encounter.
I cannot recommend this film enough. The rest of the movie is just as potent as its introduction, offering a powerful experience at only 70 minutes running time. It's available for free on Tubi.