Blogpost by Dr. Birgit Hofmann Female Resistance, Darkness, and Light: Augen-auf-Kinotag Film “In Liebe, eure Hilde” (D 2024)

Hilde Coppi (1909–1943) was politically aligned with the KPD. A key impetus for her resistance—and that of her husband—was a Nazi propaganda exhibition disparaging the Soviet Union. Hans Coppi, from a communist-leaning family, was already involved in resistance when they met and had previously been imprisoned in Oranienburg concentration camp. The couple married in 1941. Hilde was not merely the spouse of an opponent; she actively participated, organizing materials for leaflets and acquiring paper from her workplace (Kruse 2024, p. 73). Hilde was ultimately sentenced to death for “preparation for high treason in conjunction with aiding the enemy, espionage, and radio offences”; a plea for clemency was denied. 

At this point, cinematic imagination takes over. In Liebe, eure Hilde uses Hilde and her environment as a projection of a different, better Germany that did exist, though always as a minority. Light and darkness serve as key aesthetic devices, juxtaposing this alternative Germany against the terror of the Nazi regime: the grim daily life of imprisonment and Hilde’s execution are contrasted with the bright, almost carefree moments of the young resistance group in flashbacks.

This cinematic approach also stages both collective and individual memory, with the bright sequences symbolising the vitality of resistance, art, bohemian life, and everyday human experience, while the prison scenes reconstruct the historical reality of Nazi oppression and violence. Dresen’s film thus conveys history as a sensorially apprehensible memory, making both the dangers of Nazi rule and the human dimension of resistance tangible.

The path into resistance and Hilde’s life under Nazi rule are shown exclusively in flashbacks: scenes on the beach, in cafés, or at private gatherings. These passages were viewed by some critics as overly idyllic. Nevertheless, the film does not present a completely sanitized depiction of life under the dictatorship. We see Hilde being picked up from her allotment garden by a dark limousine; she informs her mother (Tilla Kratochwil) of her arrest in a matter-of-fact manner.

Hilde’s proximity to the workers’ movement and communism is conveyed subtly, without explicit explanation. This restraint shapes the film: calm, low on pathos, and with relatively little dramatic exaggeration, it depicts the last months of a young woman, from incarceration to the birth of her child, culminating in her execution. Humiliating body searches, interrogations, and her childbirth under detention are shown, until the death sentence separates mother and child.

From prison, Hilde wrote to her mother: 

The story’s outcome is known from the start. In a manner reminiscent of Brecht—the prison scenes are staged almost as chamber theatre—the tension lies not in what happens but in how. The non-linear narrative has drawn criticism for a perceived lack of suspense. Indeed, one may ask whether this measured, sophisticated variant of the prison film is occasionally overextended (running time: 2 hr 4 min). 

The Red Orchestra has been portrayed in film previously, e.g., the DEFA production KLK an PTX – Die Rote Kapelle (1971) and the ARD series Die rote Kapelle (1972). Dresen emphasises that female resistance is underrepresented in memory culture: the Red Orchestra “included many brave women, who did not only make coffee” (Kronen-Zeitung, 2024). Growing up in the GDR, he was mostly familiar with heroicised resistance figures; Hilde’s story touched him precisely because it depicted “ordinary people like you and me.” 

The film bears Dresen’s signature style: as the Lexikon des deutschen Films notes, his works “tell stories … without being historical films” (Rother et al., 2024, p. 860). As usual, he collaborated with screenwriter Laila Stieler. The focus on the personal in the political is evident in In Liebe, eure Hilde. For audiences, especially younger viewers familiar with Liv Lisa Fries from Babylon Berlin, this offers a distinctive perspective. 

Fries’ performance, despite historical costuming, conveys immediacy. When Hans and Hilde bend over their newborn, they resemble contemporary young parents. Café scenes and lakeside outings evoke intimacy and familiarity. History becomes present, while prison sequences are almost physically palpable. Advertised as a “story of unconditional love,” the film consciously draws on classical emotional storytelling traditions. Hilde is presented as “one of us,” yet her political contours remain deliberately understated—a strategy that may be seen as both strength and limitation, particularly given the Red Orchestra’s communist leanings in West German memory culture. 

In the credits, Hans Coppi Jr., born in prison and later a historian, narrates. His mother was allowed to live as long as she breastfed him. Growing up in East Berlin, he embodies a pan-German memory of these events. The credits show a lake — a visual echo of the bright flashbacks—while only a single radio message sent by the Coppis successfully reached its destination. As Harro Schulze-Boysen remarked: “The final arguments are not the rope and guillotine, and our present-day judges are not yet the world court.” In Liebe, eure Hilde suggests that resistance is both action and mindset, and that courage in memory shines through darkness.