Wetlands

A Filthy, Fearless Plunge into Female Desire—still Daring Where Most Films Don’t.

In 2008, a book was released that instantly became my newest obsession: Wetlands by Charlotte Roche. I’m a dreadful reader, but I devoured it in a heartbeat. The novel divided critics, but to me it was a blessing.

Not because it shocked me or revealed some groundbreaking truth, but because, as a freshly twenty-year-old woman, I was thrilled to read something that so honestly captured what most girls—every girl, even if they won’t admit it—experience with their bodies, particularly their sexuality.

What the book left me with was this: I’ve never looked at pizza and vegetables the same way since—avocado seeds in particular (yes, I know they’re technically fruit, don’t come for me).

I even considered starting an avocado garden, but not for those reasons. Let’s just say I’m a curious girl, not a reckless one.

That was my introduction to “Wetlands.” So, when in 2013 a film adaptation directed by David Wnendtwas announced—and later premiered at the Locarno Film Festival—I was all in.

Years have passed since I first read the novel, and while the details have faded, I still remember the sensation it gave me—an escape, a confirmation, a filthy fantasy come to life.

The difference is that the book allows you to build those images in your mind, while the film thrusts them in front of you. And when that happens, disappointment can easily creep in.

Does that make “Wetlands” a bad film? Absolutely not. Rewatching it in my forties, I realise that teenage fantasies and the awkward journey of self-discovery don’t actually change much.

You grow up, you live, you share fluids with strangers—yet the same mind remains—still seeking the next thrill, the next transgression. We’re born from sexuality, and we die with it. Let’s face it.

That’s precisely why “Wetlands” still matters—it forces us to confront how we think about our own bodies.

“Wetlands” explores feminism, sexuality, and coming of age through Helen (Carla Judi), an 18-year-old mysophiliac who masturbates with vegetables and believes hygiene is a bourgeois myth.

She’s sexually daring, deliberately provocative, and does the things most people wouldn’t dare to imagine, let alone say aloud.

The film doesn’t flinch from showing how grotesque and mesmerising the human body can be. Bodily fluids and eroticism are intertwined, and perversion becomes a natural progression of both.

What makes “Wetlands” so distinctive is its audacious immersion in the repulsive. Perhaps it’s the graphic visuals that make it feel so rancid. Perhaps it’s the sardonic narration that unsettles the viewer.

Or maybe it’s the extreme sharp camera close-up of intimate parts—unapologetic, almost abrasive—that amplifies its filthiness.

And while female sexuality is still a terrifying territory for both men and women, remaining a cultural taboo, today’s young women often wield sexual freedom as both a liberation and a weapon—sometimes against themselves.

Helen is cocky, untamed, and allergic to conformity—and that’s probably the biggest lesson I’ve taken from Wetlands. More people should discover (or rediscover) this German gem.

It’s no coincidence that from Germany upwards, sexuality hasn’t been portrayed this sinfully—or this freely—in quite some time, even if religious symbolism still casts its shadow.

Are Helen’s odd perversions born of pure desire, or are they the distorted echoes of trauma?

“Wetlands” leaves that question dangling, unresolved—and twelve years later, it still feels disturbingly relevant.