Laia Costa in Victoria (Adopt FIlms)

Gimmicks and tricks have been around since the birth of cinema, whether it be Cinemascope, 3-D, or Smell-o-Vision (thank you, John Waters). The ones that stood the test of time generally enhance the overall cinematic experience. Others, such as the Dogme 95 movement and, please God, found footage films, fade into the collective memory of movies that were good at the moment but really, what WERE we thinking?

Right now, filmmakers are enthralled with the idea of the single take (or the supposed single take), such as the one that ends Alfonso Cuarón’s excellent Children of Men. There is also Alexander Sokurov’s arty yet entertaining Russian Ark and the recent “pretend” single take of Birdman. For a filmmaker, it is the ultimate Herculean task. The amount of time and preparation that goes into any shot can be immense, but the logistics of an entire film in one take? Not only does that take gargantuan balls but also a fair amount of insanity. And then there is the question of why? Does it serve the film or the ego of the filmmakers? And what about the poor cameraman? Cameras are not light. There needs to be a fair amount of time at the gym before embarking on such an endeavor.

Victoria’s single shot lasts two hours and a quarter and is no gimmick. It’s essential in telling the story as director and co-writer Sebastian Schipper envisions it: a young girl’s headlong rush into an invigorating, yet terrifying life-changing incident. And it’s the best film I’ve seen in a long, long time.

Victoria begins with the title character (played by Laia Costa) dancing alone in a Berlin nightclub in the wee hours in the morning. She attempts to connect with the bartender, who rebuffs her. On her way out, she runs into four rowdy, drunken men attempting to enter the club. They fail miserably. One of them, Sonne (the adorably baby-faced, hangdog Frederick Lau), seems to make a connection with her, and Victoria decides to follow them into the night and continue the party. The first hour is reminiscent of Before Sunset as Veronica gets to know each: Sonne, the goofy Blinker (Burak Yigit), the short tempered but lovable Boxer (Franz Rogowzski), and Fuss (Max Mauff), who’s birthday they are celebrating and who is getting progressively loaded and incoherent.

This first hour is masterful in setting a mood and a moment. It captures a certain feeling one has in his/her early 20s when connections can be made instantly and deeply, where one night with strangers can be remembered a lifetime later, and where your lack of knowledge of individuals is no barrier to baring your soul to them. Rarely has a film captured the feeling of the potential of being carefree and young and out in the night as much as this part of Victoria achieves.

Eventually Sonne takes Victoria to her job at the local coffee shop. There is a moment where Victoria plays a tremendous piece on the piano in a shop and launches into a monologue about her conservatory days and how lonely and bereft of friends it has left her. You see on Lau’s face the transition as Victoria moves from a simple conquest to someone with depth and soul (which, of course, she has had all along). It’s as if he fell off a cliff he wasn’t expecting to be there.

Just when you settle into what looks like a lovely courtship, Sonne’s three friends arrive and the film turns into a typical genre film. I won’t tell you which genre (though it takes up the rest of the movie). But you see everything you would expect from there on in.

Except you don’t, because Schipper’s genius is that he has completely fleshed his characters out and opens their hearts to you. These are likeable, appealing people. Even Boxer, who has spent time in jail, says to Victoria pleadingly, “I’m a good person,” and he is, even if he is the catalyst for the turmoil that ensues.

Technically, the film is a marvel. Its one shot encompasses a dozen locations all across the city. The characters walk, bike, run, drive, and get driven to each location. We have so little context, so we are on the ground with only the performers’ view of the surroundings—it’s like wandering in a byzantine maze. The film isn’t just centered on the five characters; there are dozens of extras involved and also a baby, because why not? However, Schipper knows which side of the bread his butter is spread on. The first name in the closing credits is his director of photography and cameraman, Sturla Brandth Grovlen.

Laia Costa’s performance is nothing short of revelatory. Every gesture feels spontaneous and conveys depth of character. Her dialogue, simple as it may be, is charged with meaning. You are not simply watching an actress, you are watching a life unfold. Just take the aforementioned scene with the bartender. She comes off the dance floor, sweaty and joyous, puts her hair up in a ponytail and heads to the bar. She orders a shot and asks where the bartender is from (she is Spanish). Then she asks if he wants to take a shot with her. Simple, no? But based on the information she imparts, just from her tone, you can tell she is desperately lonely even though she is speaking through a smile.

She notices another foreigner in Berlin and attempts to open a conversation. She is shot down twice. That’s when she runs into the boys, and Costa has already, within a one-minute scene, laid the groundwork so you understand why Victoria would willingly and happily drop herself into this little band of brothers and follow them down whatever path they take. Costa creates in two uninterrupted hours a complex, completely identifiable, and relatable person. This is not a career making performance, it’s a career defining one. All the other performances follow suit. There is not a bum note in the entire film. If cinema is like a symphony, you are in the company of one of the best orchestras available.

Victoria is reminiscent of the early French New Wave, as four youths are let loose in a city and get in over their heads. The main difference though is Jean-Luc Godard’s ensembles and the like conveyed a cool aesthetic. His kids were playing dress up based on Hollywood noir. Victoria works on another level. Its youngsters are nakedly lonely, desperate, anxious, and lurching for meaning and connection. It is a Breathless for our times.