Imagine being shuffled straight from concentration camp to prison upon the arrival of Allied forces in Germany in 1945. It might sound unbelievably cruel, but this mockery of “liberation” was the reality for many gay men whose lifestyles were deemed illegal under Paragraph 175, a section of the German Criminal Code that was adopted in 1871, brutally expanded by the Nazis in 1935, and remained in effect in one way or another for many years afterward. Even after the downfall of the Third Reich, it took until 1969 for Paragraph 175 to be amended; it wasn’t until 1994 that the law was completely abolished.
Directed by Sebastian Meise from a script by Meise and Thomas Reider, Great Freedom tells the story of one man (played by the brilliant Franz Rogowski) whose refusal to succumb to relentless persecution under Paragraph 175 forces him in and out of prison over the course of decades. In a world where homosexuality is still criminalized in many countries — in fact, the Singapore Court of Appeal recently declined to overturn their version of Paragraph 175 — such a story remains all too relevant. Great Freedom doesn’t shy away from highlighting how bleak it is to be deemed a criminal just because of who you choose to love, yet it also shows us that in the face of such seemingly insurmountable odds, love can still be found regardless.
There is a Light That Never Goes Out
When we first meet Hans (Rogowski), he has been arrested in 1968 for soliciting sex from other men in a public restroom. Yet this isn’t his first run-in with the law, as we quickly learn when he is greeted by an old acquaintance named Viktor (Georg Friedrich) upon arriving behind bars. Indeed, Hans has been in and out of prison for more than two decades, ever since he was shuttled straight from a concentration camp to a jail cell to serve out his remaining sentence.
Back then, in 1945, Viktor — a convicted killer serving a life sentence — was Hans’ cellmate, and was disgusted to be sharing such an intimate living space with someone he deemed a pervert. Yet over time, the two men grow to become close friends, a relationship that is first sparked when Viktor uses his skills as an amateur tattoo artist to cover up the serial number engraved on Hans’ arm.
When Hans is freed, only to return again in 1957 alongside his lover, Oskar (Thomas Prenn), Viktor’s greeting is very different from when these men first met twelve years prior. And when Hans is dealt a tragic blow during his sentence, Viktor openly embraces him in the prison yard even as guards rain blows upon them — a far cry from the man who used to refuse to be seen publicly with someone guilty of violating Paragraph 175.
Great Freedom is both a love story and a survival story, deeply entwined; without one, the other would be entirely impossible. Viktor’s slow but sure willingness to accept Hans helps him maintain his own humanity in a place where he has been left to rot as something less than, while Hans’ inherent kindness and gentleness — seemingly incongruous to the brutal environment of the prison, but somehow never snuffed out — help him as well as Viktor to survive life in captivity. As their relationship grows increasingly intimate, they become each other’s light in a perpetually dark world, to the point that the freedom waiting at the end of the tunnel for Hans starts to look a lot less lustrous without Viktor there waiting for him.
Despite this, it is important to note that Great Freedom does not gloss over the horrors of prison life; rather, it shows us that even in a place designed to stomp out one’s life force, a reason for living can sometimes still be found — but it’s not easy. And in an unfriendly world that doesn’t see one as a human being on equal footing with others, one can see why Hans would find some comfort in the familiarity of the prison cell, and Viktor’s arms. That one could even reach such a point — feeling freer behind bars than out in the ostensibly free world — is one of the film’s most powerful indictments of Paragraph 175 and other laws like it.
A Little Life
Light and darkness are used to superb effect in Great Freedom, with Meise allowing the pitch blackness of solitary confinement to linger on the screen uncomfortably long each time Hans finds himself locked away as punishment. We are left with only the sounds of him sniffling with tears, howling with anger, or—even worse — the silence of a man who has accepted that this is an inevitable part of his lot in life. One of the first kindnesses Viktor shows Hans is to sneak cigarettes and matches to him in this pit of darkness; the striking of a match has never looked so welcoming or sounded so sweet.
The character of Hans is one of the more intriguing cinematic heroes in recent memory, especially as portrayed by the deeply empathetic Rogowski — an actor who conveys so much by saying so little. Great Freedom jumps around in time between Hans’ various prison sentences and the various types of man he is each time he reappears behind bars, and Rogowski’s complex, sensitive performance is the film’s most powerful means of conveying the passage of time: in the 1940s, Hans is meek and quiet, still traumatized from the concentration camp; in the 1950s, he is emboldened by love and ready to take whatever the world has to throw at him; and in the 1960s, he is beaten down and tired, but not out for the count.
During this last period behind bars, Hans offers comfort not only to Viktor, who is struggling to beat a drug addiction that is preventing him from getting paroled but to a frightened young man named Leo (Anton von Lucke) who was caught with Hans in the public restroom. Even when Leo admits that he told the police Hans forced him into those homosexual acts in the hope that it would lighten his sentence, Hans isn’t angry, but understanding. As a teacher, Leo’s life and career are in danger because of his violations of Paragraph 175, whereas Hans sees himself as relatively unimportant in comparison; used to being criminalized, he’s willing to sacrifice his own freedom so that someone else can have another chance at a better life. It’s a deeply unselfish move, one that Leo does not quite understand — and hopefully, because of Hans’ actions, he never will.
The character of Viktor — a bold, brash prison lifer covered with tattoos — could have ended up being a cliche, but Friedrich ensures that even in the beginning, one can see that Viktor is so much more than the tough guy image he projects. His evolution over time is no less striking than that of Hans, and perhaps even more so, but Friedrich’s performance makes it feel utterly natural. When Viktor gruffly denies being “like that” to Hans despite clearly being starved for the loving touch that sex with Hans provides, both we and Hans understand why — and we don’t hold it against him when he still inevitably climbs into bed with Hans later that night, wrapping his arm tightly around him as though afraid he’ll disappear if he lets go. Friedrich and Rogowski’s chemistry is the rock upon which Great Freedom’s story is anchored, and keeps you emotionally invested in the film until its final moments.
Conclusion
A beautiful film that reminds us that the personal is always political, Great Freedom will fill your heart even as it breaks it.
What do you think? What is your favorite Franz Rogowski performance? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
Great Freedom is released in theaters in New York on March 4, 2022 and in Los Angeles on March 11, 2022. You can find more international release dates here.
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