In the past decade, possibly through ever-increasing globalization and normalization of subtitles, America has witnessed an unprecedented growth in recognition of foreign-language films and filmmakers. To be more specific, this growth mostly comes from Europe, with every other continent on a much longer road. Films like Amour, Cold War, Another Round, The Zone of Interest, Anatomy of a Fall, Emilia Pérez, and Sentimental Value each netted multiple above-the-line nominations at their respective Academy Awards, finding audiences in the multiplex just as much as the arthouse. For all of the filmmakers behind those films, the path to Western appreciation, which, I want to make clear, is not the be-all and end-all for the canonization of cinema, is one marked with decades of work on the festival circuit and appearances on critics’ lists.

As with almost everything related to awards, it comes down to timing. The right person making the right movie at the right time is both a lazy and correct way to explain why so-and-so won such an award. It might be why the German writer/director Christian Petzold has largely remained siloed within Europe, never fully crossing the Atlantic Ocean and into the consciousness of the American cinemagoing public. That’s not to say he hasn’t deserved it, far from it, actually. In the past decade, he’s become one of the most consistently impressive filmmakers with Phoenix, Transit, Undine, and Afire.

Along with one-word titles and strong critical reviews, a consistent thread among those works has been the presence of Paula Beer. Thankfully, after being subjected to being the life-affirming mystery girl for the world’s biggest sad-sack loser in Afire, she’s been promoted back to a leading role. Almost as if Petzold read my review for that film and made it a mission to fulfill my wishes, Beer’s wet blanket of a boyfriend in Mirrors No. 3 dies almost immediately from a car accident. Except, it didn’t really feel like an accident, with Laura (Beer) exchanging two meaningful glances with Betty (Barbara Auer), the woman who lives on the road where the accident takes place, just before it happened. Also adding to the mystery is that Laura emerges from the wreckage physically unscathed. She asks to stay with Betty for a few days, a proposal that Betty agrees to with a little more happiness than a person normally would.

The film takes its title from the third movement of a piano solo written by Maurice Ravel more than one hundred years ago. It’s called “A Boat on the Ocean,” which lyrically describes the journey of a boat as it sails up and down the ocean waves. Each of Petzold’s characters seems to be riding that same wavelength (pun intended), the car accident rustling things back to the surface. Betty repeatedly mistakenly refers to Laura as Yelena, and somehow has a spare bedroom filled with clothes that fit a young woman. Her husband and adult son don’t stay with her anymore, immediately objecting when she sets out a fourth plate for dinner before they realize Laura is also in the house.

There’s a palpable feeling of suspense as we try to understand the motivations behind Laura hiding away from her life and Betty being so open. If this were a Hitchcock film, it would all climax with a moment of melodrama. Here, it’s more gentle, just like the soothing piano soundtrack and magically rural cinematography. Eventually, you just kind of wade into the mystery, never taking offense to the fact that it extends beyond the point where you’ve put the pieces together.

Part of that satisfaction comes from Beer and Auer’s transfixing performances. They say as much with their expressions as they do with their words, compelled to each other through their separate and shared journeys. This might ultimately be a minor work in Petzold’s filmography, but that doesn’t mean major credit shouldn’t be given to those who made it happen.