Directing: B+
Acting: A-
Writing: B+
Cinematography: A-
Editing: B+

There’s a fascinatingly unusual angle to Filip, a film about Nazi Germany produced by one of its many occupied countries during World War II: Poland. Indeed, the opening sequence focuses on the Jewish people in the “Warsaw ghetto,” handheld camera work following cluelessly joyous young people on their way to see a cabaret act. Even as they all walk around with the Star of David affixed to their sleeves, they are all smiles and joy, Filip (Eryk Kulm) and a fiancé preparing to perform a dance onstage.

It’s obvious very early on that this opening sequence is going somewhere very dark—not because of anything we see onscreen, which would seem fun and carefree in any other context. But, knowing this is Poland in 1941 changes everything about the expectations.

Shortly thereafter, the setting shifts to Frankfurt two years later, where Filip is posing as a Frenchman working among the serving staff of a hotel. And this is where the point of view offers something unusual, in the midst of countless films set during the second World War. Although Filip is himself Jewish, and he is indeed the protagonist of this story, his Jewishness only comes up occasionally. Given the removal of the Jewish community, the Nazis are left to oppress and moralize with the others left on the periphery—namely, the foreign workers in business establishments.

Which is to say: even with Filip successfully posing as someone who isn’t Jewish, he’s still not German. The Nazi obsession with “purity” extends to the French, or Belgian, as in the case of Filip’s roommate and close friend Pierre (Victor Meutelet). There are perpetual dangers even to these people, and in one particularly memorable scene, three different non-German men are hanged for the crime of having had sex with German women.

Director and co-writer Michal Kwiecinski makes much of Filip’s sexual exploits, as he does exactly this, having sex with multiple German women—all part of his plan, to seduce German women, “turn them into whores,” and humiliate them, as his own form of subversive revenge against the Nazis.

This, indeed, is where Filip is a bit disappointing; I have mixed feelings at best about this premise, which threads an undertone of misogyny into the narrative. Eryk Kulm is excellent as the stoic and brooding title character, and every scene is shot with propulsive tension—Filip is a riveting experience, albeit a predictably dispiriting one. His targeting of German women specifically is a strange turn, though, given that the Germans who slaughtered his whole community in Warsaw were all men. And as with any patriarchal society, with Nazis controlling their women’s behaviors and exploits, the women really can’t win—not even with the man who is ostensibly our hero, not even when one of them makes clear she does not support what the Nazis are doing.

That said, everything else about how Filip is made and constructed is excellent, and we do get some narrative turns into things like friendship and loyalty. Spoiler alert, these things also tend to have tragic ends.

The basic gist is that Filip is simply surviving, and existing in some moral gray areas—to put it generously—in order to do so. There are moments in Filip that are truly heartbreaking, especially after witnessing communal joy fatally cut short. It’s clear that Filip, still a young man, will always be damaged. Filip has a fair amount in common with the 2002 film The Pianist, which was also about a Polish Jew surviving the Nazis, albeit in far starker and more desperate circumstances. In this case, Filip is hiding in plain sight.

Filip comes within striking distance of greatness, falling just short due to some unfortunate narrative choices. What is has to recommend it manages to supersede its flaws, however, making it well worth a watch.

*Serving the enemy: Eryk Kulm hides in plain sight.*

Overall: B+