Heldin

From its opening images, Heldin makes clear that it is not interested in glamourizing or dramatizing the hospital setting in the way television series often do, but in presenting it with a visceral immediacy that borders on documentary realism. The film begins with racks of hospital scrubs advancing mechanically through the laundry system, a seemingly mundane yet strikingly symbolic image: a reminder that beneath the façade of sterile order lies the unrelenting human effort that keeps the system functioning. Directed and written by Petra Biondina Volpe, the film is designed less as a straightforward medical drama than as a cinematic act of empathy. Its ambition is to immerse the viewer in the exhausting, pressurized rhythm of a single understaffed shift and, in doing so, to underline the fragility of a profession that has long been taken for granted. This is not a story about doctors performing heroic surgeries or patients miraculously recovering, but about the daily endurance of a nurse who must maintain composure and compassion even as the system around her is crumbling under strain.

At the center of this experience stands Floria, portrayed with staggering control and humanity by Leonie Benesch, an actress who has already demonstrated her remarkable ability to channel institutional pressure in films like The Teachers’ Lounge and September 5. Here, she carries the entire narrative almost single-handedly, her presence anchoring every scene. Floria begins her late shift with quiet optimism, donning new sneakers and exchanging polite words with her colleague Bea (played by Sonja Riesen), but very quickly, the cracks in her routine begin to appear. When one colleague calls in sick, she is left to care for twenty-six patients with only Bea and a nervous student nurse to assist her. The camera of Judith Kaufmann follows her relentlessly through corridors, wards, and stairwells, never allowing the audience the luxury of rest. This constant motion mirrors the suffocating reality of hospital life, where interruptions cascade one into the next and a single oversight can prove fatal. The editing of Hansjörg Weissbrich, sharp and unyielding, heightens this sense of claustrophobia, evoking the ticking away of time like a heart monitor on the verge of flatlining.

Each of the patients Floria encounters reveals a different facet of the emotional and logistical challenges of her profession. There is Mr. Leu, played with subtle vulnerability by Urs Bihler, waiting in agony for test results that the overwhelmed doctors cannot yet deliver; Mrs. Bilgin, embodied by Eva Fredholm, whose condition is compounded by the suffocating anxieties of her adult sons; Mrs. Morina, portrayed by Lale Yavas, who agonizes over whether to continue treatment and in doing so embodies the cruel dilemmas of modern oncology; Mr. Song, brought to life by Jeremia Chung, whose potentially lethal allergy could easily be overlooked amid the chaos; and finally Mr. Severin, played with exasperating entitlement by Jürg Plüss, who insists that his demands as a private patient be prioritized, no matter the stakes for others. These figures are not written as caricatures but as painfully recognizable portraits of real human need, each one demanding not only medical assistance but also emotional presence. Floria’s role, therefore, is not simply to administer drugs or adjust IV drips, but to inhabit dozens of emotional spaces in the span of a single night: caregiver, confidante, defender, and, occasionally, lightning rod for frustration.

What makes Heldin resonate so deeply is the authenticity with which Leonie Benesch embodies this role. To prepare, she completed an internship in a Swiss hospital, learning to perform every technical gesture with fluency, and this meticulous preparation permeates her performance. The stress is not expressed in grand emotional breakdowns but in the quiet tightening of her body, in a fleeting hesitation before entering a patient’s room, or in the barely suppressed sighs when yet another alarm rings. There is a particularly telling scene when she steals a few seconds of solitude in an elevator, her face finally registering the despair she hides from her patients. In these intimate cracks, the audience is reminded that behind the professional mask lies a human being who is just as vulnerable, tired, and in need of care as the people she treats. When she finally lashes out at the entitled patient played by Jürg Plüss, it is not a moment of melodrama but the inevitable breaking point of someone who has endured the impossible for far too long.

The film’s technical elements further strengthen its immersive force. The score by Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch pulses like a metronome, alternating between ominous pizzicatos and swelling strings that echo both the ticking of a clock and the beating of an anxious heart. The production design by Beatrice Schulz, which resurrected a disused hospital into a convincing living environment, achieves the perfect balance between functional realism and cinematic tension. Meanwhile, Petra Biondina Volpe’s choice to cast not only professional actors but also non-professionals and real medical staff lends the film a texture of authenticity rarely seen in fictional accounts of healthcare. Every detail, from the fluorescent lighting to the hurried choreography of staff weaving past each other in cramped hallways, contributes to a sense of immersion that is both exhausting and revealing.

Beyond its immediate impact, Heldin functions as a sharp social critique. As underscored in the press materials, Switzerland is on the verge of a catastrophic shortage of nurses, with estimates suggesting 40,000 will be missing by 2040 . This crisis is hardly limited to Switzerland; the World Health Organization projects a worldwide deficit of 13 million nurses by 2030. By dramatizing one single shift, the film translates these abstract numbers into something personal and urgent. It highlights how systemic neglect—budget cuts, understaffing, and the undervaluation of a profession dominated by women—creates a reality where exhaustion and error become inevitable. In framing this issue as both a humanitarian and feminist concern, Petra Biondina Volpe demonstrates the political power of cinema to remind us that the struggle for fair conditions in nursing is not merely the concern of healthcare workers but a societal responsibility. After all, sooner or later, we are all patients.

In its closing moments, the film leaves us with an indelible image: Floria, still in her scrubs, riding the bus back home at dawn, her body drained but her face betraying only a fragile composure. Between the beginning and the end of her shift, she has saved lives, endured unbearable pressure, and revealed both the limits and the greatness of her profession. Leonie Benesch gives a performance that transforms her into a universal symbol of caregivers everywhere, not because she is flawless, but because she is human, fallible, and still unwilling to stop caring. Petra Biondina Volpe, whose earlier work such as The Divine Order demonstrated her commitment to social issues, here crafts what is arguably her most visceral and urgent film. Heldin is not only gripping cinema but a deeply necessary reminder of the invisible labor that sustains our societies. It is exhausting to watch, yet impossible to look away, precisely because it reflects a truth we cannot afford to ignore. In honoring those who are too often relegated to the background, the film emerges not just as art, but as an act of recognition and gratitude.

Heldin
Written and directed by Petra Biondina Volpe
Produced by Reto Schaerli, Lukas Hobi
Starring Leonie Benesch, Sonja Riesen, Alireza Bayram, Selma Jamal Aldin, Urs Bihler, Margherita Schoch, Albana Agaj, Ridvan Murati, Urbain Guiguemdé, Elisabeth Rolli, Doris Schefer, Jürg Plüss, Jeremia Chung, Eva Fredholm, Andreas Beutler, Lale Yavas, Dominique Lendi
Music by Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch
Cinematograph :  Judith Kaufmann
Edited by Hansjörg Weissbrich   
Production companies : Zodiac Pictures, Bastie Griese
Distributed by Wild Bunch Distribution (France)
Release date : August 27, 2025 (France)
Running time : 92 minutes

Seen August 23 2025 (Screener press)

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