Danish author Hans Christian Andersen is known for many a tale from The Emperor’s New Clothes, The Princess and the Pea, The Ugly Duckling, Thumbelina, and, of course, The Little Mermaid. One title that’s well-known in the U.S. is his 1844 adventure The Snow Queen, a fairytale exploring the darker aspects of humanity and the ways in which love can save us. Co-writer/director Lucile Hadžihalilović (Innocence) is the latest filmmaker to adapt the tale, opting for a less direct approach and something more befitting the ethereal, fantastical essence while grounding it in the real world. First premiering at Berlinale 2025, Hadžihalilović’s The Ice Tower (La tour de glace) screens during Fantastic Fest 2025, bringing with it a glacial narrative that seeks to make manifest the metaphors within The Snow Queen to explore escapism, delusion, and freedom within a modern setting.
Clara Pacini as Orphan Jeanne in THE ICE TOWER. Photo courtesy of Yellow Veil Pictures.
1970s France: Jeanne (newcomer Clara Pacini) runs away from the orphanage she’s lived in since a young girl, finding herself unknowingly taking shelter on a film set wherein a remake of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen is being produced. With a mixture of lies and truths, Jeanne becomes an extra under the name of Bianca, catching the eye of cold and bristly lead actor Cristina (Marion Cotillard), until the two find themselves growing close. As the fiction of their work bleeds into Jeanne’s reality, the story of The Snow Queen shifts from an adaptive work into a potential harbinger.
Marion Cotillard as Cristina in THE ICE TOWER. Photo courtesy of Yellow Veil Pictures.
It makes no difference if you’re familiar with the original Andersen story of not as the script by Hadžihalilović (Innocence) and Geoff Cox (High Life), in collaboration with Alanté Kavaïté (Evolution), structures the whole of The Ice Tower as if itself is a story being told complete with narrator (Aurélia Petit). Utilizing this structure, in conjunction with other technical elements, installs a sense of illusion around the entire cinematic experience, crafting an aura of multiple realities playing out at once. In the first, there’s the story of The Snow Queen, told to us in pieces by the formless narrator against vista shots of a snowy mountain range — a choice that connects the icy tale with the cold tundra of reality. It’s established that Jeanne is living in a mountainous area and travels far to reach Paris, but the mountains are never identified, so they could as easily a portion of the French Alps as they could be the realm of The Snow Queen. The second reality is the one in which Jeanne lives and also constructs in her mind. This is demonstrated as Jeanne herself loves the story, shown reading it to a young orphan who’s latched onto her as a means of demonstrating her affection toward the story and the need to pass it on to others. In this reality, the use of the narrator and these vista sequences as much convey that we’re observing a story as it is inviting us into Jeanne’s perspective – one filled with wonder, but also a profound longing and a cold detachment. The mountains are so large, the snow abundant, that The Snow Queen could be lurking on any one of the peaks she sees; however, there’s not an ounce of warmth to be seen. Here, nature is used to illustrate how Jeanne views her circumstance, even though what we witness in the orphanage would contradict this view; nevertheless, Jeanne sees herself in need of escape to someplace exuding warmth. She runs away based on a figurative dream and a postcard, going to a skating rink because that’s the place featured on it and entirely unprepared for the lack of support she’ll find when she arrives and the dangers that may prey upon young girls. She constructs her own reality, one in which The Snow Queen is an ally, offering comfort in the potentially deathly cold, rather than an adversary who preys upon and admonishes the gentle. The third reality is that of the world of the film, something which Jeanne accidentally falls into and struggles to grasp, especially when discovering that they are making her favorite story. It’s here that the incursion takes place as lead actor Cristina is as frosty as The Snow Queen, delighting in mayhem (real or imagined) and keeping all at a distance. That the two form a connection, albeit as tempered as a wintry French evening, is not so much odd as it is inevitable: two figures who would prefer to exist in an alternate reality, to play pretend in a world of their own, to embrace the cold so that they themselves cannot be hurt rather than contend with their existence.
Clara Pacini as Orphan Jeanne in THE ICE TOWER. Photo courtesy of Yellow Veil Pictures.
Helping to bridge the gap between realities — ours and the multiples within the story — is the remarkable cinematography from Jonathan Ricquebourg (The Taste of Things; Final Cut). Every frame of the film possesses a softness, that shot-on-film haze prevalent in many films of the 1970s, which helps anchor the larger reality of the story within the era as much as the Laurence Benoit (Maldoror) costumes and Vesna Peborde (Amélie) makeup. Fascinatingly, so much of the story we observe is also framed by Ricquebourg to create a false 1.33:1 ratio within the actual 1.77:1 ratio on display. This means that sometimes the action would be staged between a door frame, creating a tightening effect on the action as it forces the audience into a tight space, or it could be Jeanne looking through a hole, thereby creating a forced perspective. In these instances, there’s this quiet sensation of being thrust backward in time before the world was as wide open as it is, infusing the film with a constriction that frequently mimics Jeanne’s journey and perspective.
Marion Cotillard as Cristina in THE ICE TOWER. Photo courtesy of Yellow Veil Pictures.
It all, of course, comes down to the performances which hang on Pacini in her debut feature and Cotillard (Inception; Annette), in her second Hadžihalilović’-directed project (Innocence). As expected, Cotillard is magnificent whether as The Snow Queen in the feature or as Cristina, the costumes aiding in separating which identity the character maintains while the actor implies the coexistence of both at the same time. As reality becomes a thing that’s fluid, even under icy interpersonal conditions, the audience never really knows if Cotillard is playing at being The Snow Queen or if she merely *is*. It’s a commanding performance that starts with the stereotypical diva persona, but whose chipping via Jeanne reveals something far more human and delicate. In order to make any of this possible, Pacini must be able to not only keep up with Cotillard’s demanding presence as Cristina, she must make us believe in the paradoxical Jeanne who appears tried and true, open to others, while also closeted and blocked off, readying small lies as necessary. Jeanne is where she is because the script needs her to be, but Pacini makes us belief that it’s a reality Jeanne creates for herself with no accidents. This belief is necessary and Pacini exudes such control, even in the face of her character’s isolation, that we cannot look away at even the most chilling moments.
Marion Cotillard as Cristina in THE ICE TOWER. Photo courtesy of Yellow Veil Pictures.
You may have noticed language throughout this review that plays on the title of the film in order to convey the temperature. This is because, quite impressively, Hadžihalilović brings together the thematic and the realized in such a way that there’s no wasted frame. Everything has a meaning, everything carries weight. In brief, the concepts inherent in the word “cold” are complex in their relation to temperature and temperament, to passion and indifference, and to appearance and intention. Hadžihalilović brings all of these together so that the story of The Ice Tower embodies both the tale its adapting and something entirely new, something which transitions the narrative from one of love conquering all to personal reclamation through the reality we create for ourselves. Even the enigmatic ending inserts a new reality into the tale, the encroaching perspective transforming Hadžihalilović’s entire film so that rather than being powered by fear and isolation, it harbors hope and affection. Whether it’s real or not is inconsequential as long as the characters within believe it to be true.
Screening during Fantastic Fest 2025.
In theaters October 3rd, 2025.
For more information, head to the official Fantastic Fest The Ice Tower webpage.
Final Score: 4 out of 5.
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Categories: In Theaters, Reviews
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