DIRECTOR: Eric Lamhene
STARRING: Carla Juri, Veronique Tshanda Beya, Esperanza Martin Gonzalez-Quevedo, Alessia Raschella
RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 41 minutes
LANGUAGE: French, Spanish, Italian
PLOT: Whisked away in the dead of night, bruised and unexpectedly pregnant, Emma finds refuge in a women’s shelter, where fragments of her former self slowly begin to resurface.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: Luxembourg City, Luxembourg
To check out all previous submissions for Luxembourg, click HERE.
STARRING: Carla Juri, Veronique Tshanda Beya, Esperanza Martin Gonzalez-Quevedo, Alessia Raschella
RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 41 minutes
LANGUAGE: French, Spanish, Italian
PLOT: Whisked away in the dead of night, bruised and unexpectedly pregnant, Emma finds refuge in a women’s shelter, where fragments of her former self slowly begin to resurface.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: Luxembourg City, Luxembourg
To check out all previous submissions for Luxembourg, click HERE.
FILM REVIEW:
(This review contains spoilers.)
“I would love to live with all of you in a big house."
Breathing Underwater, directed by Eric Lamhène, is a quietly devastating and deeply intimate portrait of a woman trying to reclaim herself after trauma. Set in the hushed corners of Luxembourg, the film traces Emma’s journey after escaping an abusive relationship, pregnant and scarred both physically and emotionally. Lamhène captures her fragility with extraordinary sensitivity, never exploiting her suffering but rather framing it within moments of silence, reflection, and gradual awakening. The pacing is deliberate, allowing the viewer to inhabit Emma’s internal world, a world where breathing itself becomes an act of courage.
The film’s visual language is one of its greatest strengths, where Lamhène uses natural light to communicate Emma’s emotional state: the pale grays of dawn, the sterile whites of the women’s shelter, and the warm golds that slowly return as she begins to heal. Every frame feels intimate, almost tactile, as if the camera were learning how to see again alongside its protagonist. The sound design, too, is restrained yet powerful, muted heartbeats, distant voices, and shallow breaths underline the tension between vulnerability and rebirth. There’s an unmistakable tenderness in how the film approaches recovery, not as a single cathartic event but as a mosaic of small, defiant moments.
Lamhène’s direction allows for deep empathy without sentimentality. The women Emma meets at the shelter are not side characters but mirrors, each reflecting a different version of strength and survival. The ensemble dynamic builds a sense of quiet sisterhood that feels lived-in and true. The dialogue is spare, often replaced by glances or gestures that say more than words ever could. The result is a film that feels both painfully real and artistically precise, as if each scene were designed to breathe at the same rhythm as Emma herself.
Breathing Underwater is about rediscovery, the fragile, defiant act of learning to live again after being submerged in silence and fear. Emma’s journey becomes a metaphor for reclaiming her body and voice, breath by breath, in a world that often denies women both. The title itself captures the film’s essence: to “breathe underwater” is to survive the impossible, to find strength where none should exist. Lamhène’s vision is neither sentimental nor hopeless, it’s deeply human, showing that healing is slow but inevitable. In the end, the film reminds us that survival is not passive; it’s an act of quiet courage, a way of finding air even in the darkest depths. Healing is like breathing underwater: it feels impossible until, somehow, it isn’t.
(This review contains spoilers.)
“I would love to live with all of you in a big house."
Breathing Underwater, directed by Eric Lamhène, is a quietly devastating and deeply intimate portrait of a woman trying to reclaim herself after trauma. Set in the hushed corners of Luxembourg, the film traces Emma’s journey after escaping an abusive relationship, pregnant and scarred both physically and emotionally. Lamhène captures her fragility with extraordinary sensitivity, never exploiting her suffering but rather framing it within moments of silence, reflection, and gradual awakening. The pacing is deliberate, allowing the viewer to inhabit Emma’s internal world, a world where breathing itself becomes an act of courage.
The film’s visual language is one of its greatest strengths, where Lamhène uses natural light to communicate Emma’s emotional state: the pale grays of dawn, the sterile whites of the women’s shelter, and the warm golds that slowly return as she begins to heal. Every frame feels intimate, almost tactile, as if the camera were learning how to see again alongside its protagonist. The sound design, too, is restrained yet powerful, muted heartbeats, distant voices, and shallow breaths underline the tension between vulnerability and rebirth. There’s an unmistakable tenderness in how the film approaches recovery, not as a single cathartic event but as a mosaic of small, defiant moments.
Lamhène’s direction allows for deep empathy without sentimentality. The women Emma meets at the shelter are not side characters but mirrors, each reflecting a different version of strength and survival. The ensemble dynamic builds a sense of quiet sisterhood that feels lived-in and true. The dialogue is spare, often replaced by glances or gestures that say more than words ever could. The result is a film that feels both painfully real and artistically precise, as if each scene were designed to breathe at the same rhythm as Emma herself.
Breathing Underwater is about rediscovery, the fragile, defiant act of learning to live again after being submerged in silence and fear. Emma’s journey becomes a metaphor for reclaiming her body and voice, breath by breath, in a world that often denies women both. The title itself captures the film’s essence: to “breathe underwater” is to survive the impossible, to find strength where none should exist. Lamhène’s vision is neither sentimental nor hopeless, it’s deeply human, showing that healing is slow but inevitable. In the end, the film reminds us that survival is not passive; it’s an act of quiet courage, a way of finding air even in the darkest depths. Healing is like breathing underwater: it feels impossible until, somehow, it isn’t.
