Lucile Hadžihalilović's mesmerising new feature, The Ice Tower, has been named the third best film of 2025 in the United States. This kaleidoscopic fable, headlined by an imperious Marion Cotillard, serves as a potent cautionary tale about the seductive dangers of fantasy and obsessive idolisation.
A Hermetic World of Film and Fable
Directed by the consistently brilliant yet underrated Lucile Hadžihalilović, the film marks a subtle shift for the auteur. Known for crafting exquisitely controlled, hermetic worlds in features like Innocence (2004) and Evolution (2015), Hadžihalilović here roots her vision in Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen. The story follows Jeanne (Clara Pacini), a teenage orphan who escapes her foster home and stows away on a film set adapting the classic fairytale.
On set, the Snow Queen is portrayed by the haughty, damaged diva Cristina van der Berg, played with trademark damaged hauteur by Cotillard. Through Jeanne's enamoured eyes, the film-making process itself becomes another of Hadžihalilović's rarefied, ritualistic microcosms. The backstage world of set dressings and fittings is heavy with latent meaning, pulling Jeanne in as an initiate.
The Perils of Fantasy and a Frozen Heart
At its core, The Ice Tower is a stark warning. Jeanne, enthralled by finally entering this 'magic kingdom', becomes Cristina's protege, but is unclear on what she truly seeks: a mother substitute or a dangerous infatuation. Hadžihalilović masterfully blurs the lines between the artificial and the real, spinning scenes from the film shoot into Jeanne's daydreams in a disorienting, kaleidoscopic fashion.
Set in an indeterminate analogue 1970s, the film's atmosphere acts as a warning for a digital age drowned in imagery. Cristina, who shares a forlorn past with the girl, understands the cost of living inside a fantasy, questioning whether splendid isolation is 'enough'. The unsettling warble of the ondes Martenot on the soundtrack amplifies the pervasive sense of disquiet.
Monsters in the Fairytale
The film provocatively asks where the monster lies in this modern fairytale. Is it the director, played by Hadžihalilović's real-life partner Gaspar Noé? Or is the monster the act of film-making and art itself, which hoards and crystallises beauty until desire hits absolute zero? While some may interpret the film through a #MeToo lens—with a notably French scepticism towards the movement—its critique is broader and more philosophical.
Marion Cotillard reigns over the film with a claustrophobic, frosty authority, making The Ice Tower a compelling and unsettling exploration of the human need for idols and the chilling price of fantasy. It solidifies Hadžihalilović's place as a unique and vital voice in cinema.
