
“The Girl with the Needle” A Gothic Tale of Desperation and Darkness in Post-War Copenhagen
The Girl with the Needle, directed by Magnus von Horn, is a haunting, atmospheric dive into one of Denmark’s most notorious murder cases. Yet, this film isn’t a conventional serial killer narrative. Rather than focusing solely on the infamous figure of Dagmar Overby, von Horn shifts the lens toward a more human, empathetic angle. He deftly avoids the typical trappings of a crime thriller by weaving a story that is as much about social hardship as it is about horror. This approach elevates the film into something more profound—a dark, gothic tale of survival and the forgotten individuals who are left to fall through society’s cracks.
Inspired by the true story of Dagmar Overby, a serial killer who preyed on infants in early 20th century Denmark, the film explores a narrative that is grim by its very nature. Yet von Horn and co-writer Line Langebek take care not to dwell on the more sensational aspects of Overby’s crimes. Instead, they choose to focus on the people at the fringes of society who were drawn into her orbit. In this way, The Girl with the Needle becomes a portrait of empathy, focusing on the broader social conditions that lead to tragedy.
At the heart of the film is Karoline, played with quiet intensity by Vic Carmen Sonne. Karoline is a young seamstress struggling to survive in post-World War I Copenhagen. Her husband has been declared missing in action, leaving her without government support or financial stability. Despite her best efforts to make ends meet, Karoline is constantly battling against an indifferent system. The film expertly captures her growing sense of desperation as she faces eviction, loss, and societal neglect.
As Karoline’s situation becomes more dire, her path crosses with that of Dagmar, a seemingly kindhearted candy store owner played by Trine Dyrholm. Dagmar presents herself as a solution to Karoline’s problems, offering help in the form of arranging adoptions for unwanted babies. However, unbeknownst to Karoline, Dagmar is hiding a sinister secret. It is here that von Horn skillfully draws the viewer into the dark heart of the film, using this connection between two women on the margins of society to set the stage for a devastating turn of events.
Von Horn masterfully uses the tools of gothic horror to create an atmosphere of mounting tension and dread. Cinematographer Michal Dymek’s striking black-and-white visuals lend the film a stark, oppressive feel that mirrors the grim world Karoline inhabits. The industrial setting of Copenhagen, with its shadowy alleys and towering factories, becomes an almost claustrophobic space, trapping Karoline in a world that offers little escape. Production designer Jagna Dobesz enhances this mood, creating an evocative contrast between the cold, mechanical backdrop and the characters’ deeply human struggles.
The film’s use of German expressionistic techniques—most notably in the way von Horn frames his characters and uses light and shadow—further pushes The Girl with the Needle beyond a typical period drama. In particular, the return of Karoline’s war-disfigured husband, Peter (played by Besir Zeciri), adds an almost surreal, nightmarish quality to the film. His disfigurement serves as a visual metaphor for the horrors of war and societal indifference. Von Horn uses these moments of visual shock to underscore the film’s larger theme: the devastating effects of trauma on the vulnerable.
Despite the heavy subject matter, von Horn doesn’t allow the film to become overwhelmed by its darker elements. While the film eventually reveals the truth behind Dagmar’s monstrous actions, von Horn wisely avoids turning the story into a grotesque spectacle. This restraint allows the film to maintain its focus on Karoline’s journey, and Vic Carmen Sonne’s performance plays a crucial role in this. She brings an understated vulnerability to the character, balancing her portrayal with a mixture of innocence and weariness that makes Karoline’s descent into tragedy all the more affecting.
Trine Dyrholm’s Dagmar, on the other hand, is a chilling presence—cold and calculating, yet tinged with just enough humanity to make her motives believable. Dagmar’s character represents the harsh realities of those who have been hardened by life’s cruelties. Her interactions with Karoline are laced with an unspoken tension, as the audience becomes painfully aware that this seemingly maternal figure holds darker intentions. The contrast between these two characters—one naive and desperate, the other hardened and manipulative—anchors the emotional weight of the film.
In its final moments, The Girl with the Needle builds to a heart-wrenching conclusion, offering no easy answers but leaving a lasting impact. It is less a traditional serial killer biopic and more a deeply atmospheric examination of human suffering, survival, and the forces that push individuals to the brink.
While the film’s slow pacing may test some viewers’ patience, particularly in its second act, this deliberate pacing serves to deepen the audience’s emotional investment in the characters. The slow-burn tension that von Horn builds throughout the film makes the final act all the more devastating, reinforcing the idea that true horror often lies not in the acts themselves, but in the circumstances that create them.
The Girl with the Needle is a masterfully crafted film that transcends its biopic roots to become a haunting meditation on the fragility of the human condition. Gothic in tone and unflinching in its portrayal of society’s discarded, the film is a chilling reminder of the lengths people will go to survive when the world offers them no options.
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