It’s probably best to think of the film as a parable of sorts, one where an everyday institution is presented realistically, with correct procedural details, but also stands in for a larger system or set of ideals, like the jury room in “Twelve Angry Men,” the island in “Lord of the Flies,” or the ship in a tale about a mutiny. The film handles national, racial and class resentments as subtly as it handles everything else. They’re factors in everything that happens (Carla, being Polish, comes in for a bit of “other-ization” herself). But we aren’t sure about the specifics because so much happens out of our (and Carla’s) sight. The directing, cinematography (by Judith Kaufmann) and editing (by Gesa Jäger) are exceptional. Every choice is assertive and precise but rarely seems labored. Simplicity is key. A lot of the movie consists of simple, usually handheld shots of people talking, walking, and moving through the frame, often without music, although composer Marvin Miller’s spare, dissonant, unnerving strings sometimes rise up and seem to swirl around Carla and jab at her.
You know when you’re having one of those days or weeks where something bad happens, and your response to it somehow makes it worse, and your worse response causes an escalation that makes everything worse still, and it just keeps going and going, and you start to feel as if you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into a hole? That’s “The Teacher’s Lounge.” Some of you are going to read that and think, “Thanks for the warning, and there’s no way I am going to ever watch this,” while others will plan on seeing it as soon as possible.
If you do see it, you’ll come away knowing that you’ve seen a proper movie, with its own theme and distinct aesthetic and strong personality, not just another piece of flavorless “content.” Çatak and co-writer Johannes Duncker have tapped into a largely unexplored subcategory of the thriller, one with unlimited potential to illuminate everyday life.