The Girl with the Needle
Directed by Magnus von Horn
Written by Magnus von Horn and Line Langebek
Starring Vic Carmen Sonne, Trine Dyrholm, Besir Zeciri, Joachim Fjelstrup
Unrated
Runtime: 1 hours and 55 minutes
Premiered at TIFF, in theaters December 6

by Billie Anderson, Staff Writer

If a producer approached me as a filmmaker with the idea of making a movie about a child murderer set during the First World War, I wouldn’t hesitate to turn it down. It’s a concept I’d steer clear of without a second thought. That’s why I have immense respect for Magnus von Horn—not only for having the courage to tackle such a daunting and sensitive subject but also for managing to craft a compelling and remarkably well-executed film from it.

The Girl with the Needle is a harrowing journey into the darkness of post-World War I Denmark, following a fictionalized account of Karoline (Vic Carmen Sonne), a struggling widow, and her entanglement with Dagmar (Trine Dyrholm), a sinister figure inspired by the real-life Danish serial killer Dagmar Overbye. Combining stark black-and-white cinematography with a narrative steeped in melodrama and existential despair, von Horn crafts a film that is as haunting as it is beautiful, earning its place as one of the most disturbing films of recent years.

I don’t normally seek out historical dramas for a lot of reasons—often they can feel overly stylized, emotionally distant, or overly reliant on period detail at the expense of storytelling—but The Girl with the Needle challenges those preconceptions. By blending its historical setting with raw, human-centered storytelling, the film breathes new life into the genre, creating an experience that feels both deeply intimate and universally resonant. It doesn’t just recreate the past; it forces viewers to confront the lingering scars of societal neglect and moral ambiguity, proving that a historical drama can be as visceral and emotionally impactful as the most gripping contemporary stories. This one might just convert me. It’s also a horror movie? Not in the typical sense, but god, is it horrifying. More historical horror, please—looking at you, Eggers.

At its core, The Girl with the Needle is a character study in survival, desperation, and moral degradation, set against the backdrop of post-war devastation. Karoline, believing herself widowed at the war's end, grapples with profound grief and the relentless hardships of a society in ruin. Her descent into an increasingly bleak existence is marked by isolation, poverty, and the societal stigmas imposed on single mothers. This culminates in a botched self-abortion attempt—a desperate act that lays bare her vulnerability and the dire circumstances of her life.

It is through this moment of despair that Karoline meets Dagmar, a seemingly benevolent figure offering help to struggling mothers. However, Dagmar’s facade of kindness hides a sinister agenda. Manipulating Karoline’s desperation, she lures her into a web of exploitation under the pretense of providing stability and support. The relationship between the two women becomes a focal point of the narrative, exposing the moral complexities and power dynamics that arise in extreme circumstances.

As Karoline becomes entangled in Dagmar's world, she is forced to confront the boundaries of her own morality and the cost of survival. The story unflinchingly explores how systemic neglect, societal collapse, and individual desperation can corrode one's sense of self and humanity. Through Karoline's journey, The Girl with the Needle examines the human capacity for endurance in the face of unimaginable suffering, while also reflecting on the ethical compromises and moral ambiguity that can emerge in a world stripped of compassion and justice.

Sonne’s performance is mesmerizing; she shifts seamlessly between vulnerability, ruthless ambition, and cold-hearted survivalism. Dyrholm’s portrayal of Dagmar is chilling and enigmatic. Her veneer of maternal kindness masks a horrifying reality, and Dyrholm’s subtle performance ensures that Dagmar’s menace lingers in every scene. The interplay between Sonne and Dyrholm creates an almost symbiotic relationship, one defined by hostility and co-dependence, amplifying the tension as their dynamic spirals into tragedy.

The film’s visuals echo its themes, with von Horn employing sharp, shadowy cinematography that recalls the works of Bergman and Lynch. The black-and-white format emphasizes the bleakness of Karoline’s world, while the modern score—particularly its percussive, high-transient beats—heightens the emotional and psychological tension. The deliberate pacing in the film’s first half may test some viewers’ patience, but it effectively immerses the audience in Karoline’s struggles, making the shocking revelations in the latter half all the more impactful.

The film’s horrors are not confined to explicit acts of violence. Instead, von Horn creates a pervasive sense of dread by focusing on the indifference of the world around Karoline. From a public alleyway encounter with her employer to Dagmar’s heinous acts in plain view, the apathy of Copenhagen’s citizens underscores the societal complicity in the suffering of the vulnerable. 

The sound design in The Girl with the Needle is a masterclass in psychological tension, with von Horn making truly grueling and deliberate choices that elevate the film’s horror. Some of its most harrowing moments are not visual but auditory, relying on unsettling sounds to evoke dread and discomfort. The muffled cries, jagged breathing, bone breaking, and haunting ambient noises draw the audience into an almost visceral proximity to the characters’ suffering, making the unseen horrors feel all the more vivid. When Karoline learns what is happening to the children Dagmar takes in, the audiences learn along with her. By focusing on what is heard rather than shown, von Horn crafts a chilling atmosphere that lingers long after the scene ends, proving that sometimes, the imagination can conjure terrors far worse than anything depicted onscreen.

Though the film’s bleakness might alienate some viewers, its moments of tenderness provide brief but necessary respite. These fleeting glimpses of humanity—Karoline’s initial affection for her newborn, her reunion with her disfigured husband Peter (a poignant performance by Besir Zeciri), and even her complex bond with Dagmar—prevent the film from becoming a purely nihilistic experience.

However, The Girl with the Needle is not without its flaws. The midsection lags slightly as it juggles multiple subplots, occasionally diluting the focus on Karoline’s central arc. Additionally, while the finale ties the narrative threads together effectively, some viewers may wish the story had delved deeper into Dagmar’s psyche. Dyrholm’s restrained performance teases layers of complexity that remain largely unexplored—though this may be a deliberate choice to keep the narrative anchored in Karoline’s perspective. If so, it’s a decision I ultimately appreciate, as it ensures the film remains a deeply personal story.

The Girl with the Needle is a film that tests its audience’s endurance, forcing them to grapple with stark realities and unsettling moral questions. Much like The Zone of Interest, it conveys the horrors of history not through explicit depictions but through their relentless, oppressive presence, which pervades every frame. In the same way that The Zone of Interest resonated with our current moment, I believe The Girl with the Needle is precisely the kind of film we need right now.