‘Forest High’ Berlinale Review: Solitude at the Edge of the World

A cabin perched high in the Northern Alps becomes a vantage point from which to observe both the vastness of the world and the intimacy of solitude in Forêt Ivre, the delicate first feature by Belgian filmmaker Manon Coubia, premiering in the Perspectives section. Told in a hushed register—somewhere between silence and a whisper—the film is, in fact, three stories unfolding one after the other, separated only by a brief fade to black. Its protagonists are three women—Anne, Hélène, and Suzanne—who, at different moments throughout the year, take turns caring for the mountain refuge, welcoming the visitors who pass through it. Most are hikers on high-altitude excursions, stopping briefly before continuing on their respective journeys.

Anyone who has spent time in similar remote shelters—whether in the Alps or further afield—can easily imagine the kind of stillness, introspection, and temporal suspension that comes with extended stays, particularly during the off-season. The film captures both states that emerge in such isolation: contemplation and silence, but also conversation and companionship. These are three women who, for very different personal reasons, have chosen to live this experience—to embrace solitude and adapt to a place defined less by comfort than by labor and endurance.

Hovering between fiction and documentary, and incorporating stories drawn from people who have actually passed through the refuge, Forest High gradually introduces its characters, each within her own temporal frame. Anne (played by Salomé Richard) is there with her daughter, a reserved figure who speaks sparingly. Hélène (Aurélie Petit), on the other hand, arrives during the busier summer months, forming connections with guests and occasionally joining them in their outdoor activities. Suzanne (Anne Coesens) inhabits the winter stretch, when snow isolates the refuge from the outside world. Her company consists of wine, cheese, and a lone guest whose intentions remain intriguingly ambiguous—along with conversations that gradually reveal buried fears, longings, and personal histories.

Perhaps because she already has three short films that have screened at major festivals such as the Cannes and the Locarno, Coubia approaches her first feature with the assurance and patience of a far more seasoned filmmaker. She resists any impulse toward haste, allowing both the rhythms of the place and the emotional tempo of its inhabitants to dictate the film’s pace. Nor does she indulge in postcard-like imagery of the mountain landscape. On the contrary, there is a visual modesty here—a graininess to the image and an expressive use of sound design—that subtly undermines any suggestion of an alpine paradise. This is a place marked not just by natural beauty, but by stories whose roots stretch into a past that continues to reverberate in the present.

Inspired by the decade Coubia herself spent volunteering as a caretaker in such a refuge, Forêt Ivre operates as a work of fiction grounded in lived experience. Its three protagonists are, in reality, the actual guardians of the shelter, and many of the interactions depicted are reconstructions of real encounters. The result is a heightened sense of authenticity: no gesture feels overstated, no emotion theatrically inflated. These women are connected—to their environment, to the people who briefly cross their paths—and cinema becomes the medium through which that fragile, often invisible network of relationships is made perceptible.