THE BRESLAU MURDERS. A Crime in the Shadow of the Swastika

Streaming giants are step by step becoming more present in the international film market, including the Polish one. Nobody is surprised anymore by Canal+, HBO, or Netflix projects localized in Poland, but the phrase “the first Polish production…” still carries some weight. Such a tag is used – or at least was used in the early stages of promotion – by The Breslau Murders, with which Disney+ is entering the Polish market. As the name suggests, it arrives in the form of a historical, period drama set in interwar, German Breslau (today’s Wrocław), which in pop culture is almost automatically associated with the politically tinged crime genre.

The Breslau Murders takes place in 1936, just before the Berlin Olympic Games. The intrigue is tightly connected with the political and social climate of that moment – the Third Reich is gaining openly totalitarian momentum, the terror of the political police is flourishing, repression of the Jewish community is intensifying, but the regime still cares about maintaining a good image on the international stage, with the Olympics meant to serve that purpose. That is why a murder in a luxury hotel – of a Polish-Jewish athlete and the woman accompanying him – becomes an awkward thorn in the side of the NSDAP’s propaganda machine. In this situation, Holtz, the local SS chief pulling the strings in Lower Silesia, decides to reinstate a commissioner suspended a few months earlier – Franz Podolsky, a semi-legendary Wrocław cop, brilliant but notoriously insubordinate.

The crime plot of The Breslau Murders is designed to intertwine with wider political and social contexts. Much space is devoted to the gradual Nazi takeover of institutions and of people’s minds, as well as the accompanying tensions. We also see Breslau still relatively multicultural – the process of seizing Jewish property is only beginning, Germany is still relatively open for foreign work, and Podolsky himself is the son of a Polish butcher who, thanks to a spectacular police career, married an Austrian woman from the upper classes. The commissioner’s personal life is in fact an important thread, shaping both his relations with his superiors (not always impressed with his boorishness and drinking) and the investigation itself, which unsettlingly overlaps with the nightlife of his wife, Lena Podolsky. Screenwriters Bartosz Janiszewski and Magdalena Żakowska rely on proven formulas, steering the crime–social–political story smoothly through successive twists that reveal the tensions and social decay of a 1930s German metropolis. There is nothing particularly groundbreaking here – The Breslau Murders is another variation on the cynical cop in a city of sin theme – but the story is coherent, engaging, and able to sustain attention.

The elephant in the room, however, is the evident inspiration drawn from the prewar Breslau crime universe created by writer Marek Krajewski. Although the series is neither an adaptation of his novels nor openly admits to such inspiration, the similarities are striking. They start with the protagonist himself – Franz Podolsky is almost a carbon copy of Eberhard Mock, with a touch of Edward Popielski (the hero of Krajewski’s parallel series set in interwar Lwów), not only in personality and behavior but also partly in origin and sketchy career history. The dynamic of Franz and Lena’s marriage is lifted almost directly from the Wrocław author’s books, as is the character of Erwin Benke, Mock’s police partner. Even the cultural inclinations of the crime plot echo Mock’s investigations (at one point Podolsky searches for clues by studying the Bible). The only significant change lies in the hero’s stance toward the Third Reich: Podolsky is almost ostentatiously anti-fascist, unlike Mock, who maneuvers more ambiguously within the system. This heavy indebtedness to Krajewski’s popular literary series, without clearly acknowledging it as a basis or inspiration, somewhat overshadows the originality of the story.

As for execution, while solid and displaying some ambition, the series suffers from a typical flaw of domestic historical productions: the overly clean sets and costumes that don’t fit the narrative. Paweł Flis’s cinematography is also too brightly lit for the dark tone of the story, making The Breslau Murders at times resemble a family drama more than noir crime, despite some interesting creative choices in composition. As a result, it’s hard to feel the gritty underbelly of the city. The city itself pulses with life only superficially – clearly shaped by image-driven collaboration with Wrocław, which confines the action to just a handful of central, representative locations. The relatively small number of characters and extras further weakens the sense of a dynamic, growing urban organism. Local viewers will look in vain for use of Wrocław’s still-present German tenements or more decrepit spaces. Many interior sets also come off as artificial and unimmersive, making it difficult for director Leszek Dawid to build the right atmosphere – glimpses of it appear in stronger sequences that abandon the prevailing brightness and cleanliness, but these are too often offset by almost soap-operatic inserts.

Yet The Breslau Murders balances many of its flaws with strengths. Chief among them is the excellent cast, particularly the lead. Tomasz Schuchardt is charismatic, fitting seamlessly into both the crime and historical setting, and infuses his character with a human energy that to some extent liberates Podolsky from the constraints of being a Mock derivative. Ireneusz Czop shines as Holtz, as does Jakub Sierenberg as his son. And although the female roles are painfully stereotypical and rough-edged, Sandra Drzymalska (Lena), Karolina Gruszka (psychoanalyst Inga Eismann), and Agata Kulesza (Gerda Holtz) manage to craft something compelling out of them. Add to that Adam Bobik as Benke and Przemysław Bluszcz as police councillor Barens, along with a solidly constructed crime puzzle, and the result is an engaging piece of crime entertainment.

The verdict on The Breslau Murders is far from extreme. It is not a breakthrough in its genre; as an adaptation of Krajewski’s prose (which, I insist, is how this series should be seen), it loses out to Erynie, and it cannot match Król (The King) in the field of interwar crime drama. It is, however, a solid piece of entertainment, a more than respectable addition to the résumés of its actors and creators. Its stumbles and shortcomings can be attributed to the production system of a streaming giant, which by nature somewhat restricts full creative freedom. Still, it is watchable, well-crafted, and in the end, that’s what matters most.