Prosecution (original title: Staatsschutz) is a tightly controlled legal drama that treats procedure as its engine. Faraz Shariat has traded melodrama for method: the film unfolds like a close reading of bureaucratic records, its tension built from archival traces, chain-of-custody minutiae and the slow accretion of evidence. Premiering in the Panorama program at the 2026 Berlinale, the film asks a clear civic question: how do silence, paperwork and discretionary choices decide who is protected and who is left exposed?
Story and central performance
Chen Emilie Yan anchors the film as prosecutor Seyo Kim with a performance of admirable restraint. Seyo is someone who elevates traces into testimony: when an attack staged around a cyclist, an underpass and a Molotov cocktail occurs, she prioritizes forensic preservation over immediate comfort, summoning forensic teams and declining treatment so that evidence remains uncontaminated. This decision tells us everything about her priorities—truth, not convenience. Yan’s quiet intensity carries scenes that might otherwise read as dry procedural work; her small gestures register as moral commitments.
How the film works
Shariat stages the story as a procedural mapped onto legal workflows. Editing moves scenes from archive rooms to courthouse rehearsals with measured economy. Camera work habitually lingers on documents, surfaces and objects, turning mundane details into narrative proof. Long takes and observational cutting let minor discoveries reshape the case file and Seyo’s stakes, so the plot accumulates rather than explodes. Sound design is spare; the cello-led score by Gabríel Ólafs underscores emotional shifts without sentimentalizing them.
Investigative momentum and moral stakes
The film gains suspense when Seyo reopens long-archived files after the assault. What begins as a single incident widens into parallel inquiries that reveal patterns—shared graffiti, overlapping contacts, timing that hints at coordination rather than isolated prejudice. Institutional resistance mounts, embodied by a superior played by Arnd Klawitter, while allies—Ayten (Alev Irmak) and counsel Alexandra (Julia Jentsch)—push the investigation toward the courtroom. In the courtroom sequences, investigative detail is distilled into legal argument, and the film reframes culpability from lone perpetrators to systemic failures.
Aesthetics and technical craft
Shariat’s direction is confident and economical. Lotta Kilian’s cinematography favors medium-wide compositions that keep characters within defined negative space, while Friederike Hohmuth’s editing preserves spatial clarity and tightens pace when discoveries occur. Ólafs’s cello motifs provide an atmospheric throughline that supports performances rather than swamping them. Lighting tends toward low-key setups that add texture without sacrificing legibility; the result is a coherent audiovisual language that favors clarity and accumulation over flashy stylistic gestures.
Strengths
– Procedural rigor: The film translates real-world investigative practice into convincing dramatic beats. Scenes of file work, surveillance and archival cross-referencing generate tension organically.
– Central performance: Chen Emilie Yan’s controlled, precise portrayal gives the narrative a moral center.
– Civic urgency: By focusing on evidence and institutional choices, the film provokes questions about how justice systems record—and sometimes overlook—politically motivated violence.
– Craft cohesion: Score, lensing and editing work in steady dialogue to preserve tone and focus.
Limitations
– Emotional distance: The film’s methodological focus can feel chilly. Viewers seeking catharsis or conventional dramatic arcs may find its tempo deliberate to the point of austerity.
– Accessibility: A certain familiarity with legal mechanics enhances appreciation; those without it may feel sidelined by exposition-heavy stretches.
– Market reach: Its restrained visual register and issue-driven core suit festival and academic contexts more than wide commercial release.
Practical uses
Prosecution functions well as both narrative cinema and a teaching tool. Law schools, film programs and human-rights organizations can extract scenes for case studies on evidence management, investigation ethics and courtroom strategy. Filmmakers interested in visualizing archival forensics will find useful examples of how to dramatize mundane records and metadata. Civil-society screenings paired with panels or Q&As could amplify the film’s impact beyond box-office returns.
Genre placement and comparisons
This is less thriller than investigative cinema: a measured, slow-burn study that privileges methodical revelation over shocks. It sits alongside recent European works that map bureaucratic and digital decay through deliberate storytelling. Audiences drawn to analytical pacing and institutional critique will find it rewarding; those looking for visceral thrills, less so.
Thematic concerns and cultural context
Shariat’s film interrogates complacency toward right-wing violence and probes how a putatively neutral justice system can end up obscuring patterns of politically motivated harm. Drawing on the public conversations around attacks such as Halle and Hanau, the film shows how routine protocols—when applied without context—can erase patterns and marginalize victims. Seyo’s identity as a queer, second-generation immigrant is threaded into this institutional critique: her proximity to marginalized communities sharpens the film’s exploration of belonging, recognition and bureaucratic bias.
Story and central performance
Chen Emilie Yan anchors the film as prosecutor Seyo Kim with a performance of admirable restraint. Seyo is someone who elevates traces into testimony: when an attack staged around a cyclist, an underpass and a Molotov cocktail occurs, she prioritizes forensic preservation over immediate comfort, summoning forensic teams and declining treatment so that evidence remains uncontaminated. This decision tells us everything about her priorities—truth, not convenience. Yan’s quiet intensity carries scenes that might otherwise read as dry procedural work; her small gestures register as moral commitments.0
Story and central performance
Chen Emilie Yan anchors the film as prosecutor Seyo Kim with a performance of admirable restraint. Seyo is someone who elevates traces into testimony: when an attack staged around a cyclist, an underpass and a Molotov cocktail occurs, she prioritizes forensic preservation over immediate comfort, summoning forensic teams and declining treatment so that evidence remains uncontaminated. This decision tells us everything about her priorities—truth, not convenience. Yan’s quiet intensity carries scenes that might otherwise read as dry procedural work; her small gestures register as moral commitments.1