‘Murderess’: Thessaloniki Review

Dir: Eva Nathena. Greece. 2023. 97mins

The flinty and unforgiving mountainous landscape of Murderess’ Greek island setting mirrors the bleak mood of Eva Nathena’s directorial feature debut. Based on the classic novella of the same name by Alexandros Papadiamantis, this is the second time this Thomas Hardy-style tale of women’s plight at the hands of the patriarchy has been adapted for film, after the 1974 version by Costa Ferris. Due for release in Greek cinemas from November 30, Murderess is co-produced by streaming service Cosmote TV and, given the film’s similarity to a lot of prestige historical drama produced worldwide, its best prospects further afield are also likely to be via streaming.

A melodramatic character study of a woman sliding towards psycopathy

In the early 1900s, the ageing Hadoula (Karyofyllia Karabeti) lives a brutal existence in a remote village. Her sons are absent, called away by work or prison, leaving two of her daughters still at home and a third about to have her second child. Prospects for girls are limited from the moment they draw breath, underlined by children singing a ’ring-a-roses’ type of song in which they ’wish only for boys’.  Hadoula acts as the local midwife, while her knowledge of herbs also helps to patch up those women who are beaten by their husbands – which, in this time and place, seems to be almost all of them.

Hadoula does not just usher infants into the world, however - she also helps some of them leave it. Girls, with their need for a dowry, are a costly luxury and it seems fathers often give the old woman the nod in order to spare them the cost of another. This closet acceptance underpins the sombre atmosphere of a drama that offers little in the way of respite from its brutality. Kind words are never spoken here and, in case we need any further indication that even religion offers no comfort or oversight, the priest is literally blind. 

This melodramatic character study of a woman sliding towards psycopathy shows Hadoula frequently encountering her abusive mother (Maria Protopappa), still hectoring and judging from beyond the grave. Flashbacks show Hadoula’s harsh younger existence, made to look even more grim than the present by cinematographer Panagiotis Vasilakis, who drains away the colour from the already muted palette.

This backstory hints that the narrative might be about to offer some interesting inter-generational psychological tensions, but the screenplay seems only partially committed to this device and it runs out of steam early on, making you wonder if something more may have been lost in the edit. As a director, Nathena, whose career was built on the craft side of the business as a costume and set designer, has an eye for a strong look, putting the cloud-shrouded hillsides to moody use, but often repeats ideas, such as Hadoula walking through a crowd of sheep.

When Hadoula’s daughter (Penelope Tsilika) gives birth to a second girl, who is premature and sickly, she helps to nurse her, but the potential for the older woman’s urge to do the opposite grows throughout the film. Hadoula increasingly views her role as that of a saviour of sorts, sparing women from the life she has had. This leads her to turn her attentions to little girls who are no longer babes in arms – a development that might finally put her at odds with her community.

Karabeti puts in a committed and austere central performance but the lack of any sort of lighter moments makes this a challenge for an audience. Smiling is a lost art in this environment, with even marriages presented as acts of sorrow. That the men are shown to be almost uniformly brutal and the women broken also adds to the general lack of nuance in a drama that could do with more character depth all round. The film’s serious stance on gendercide is emphasised by final intertitles revealing statistics, bringing the story to a fittingly grim end.