Germany | Netflix | 2023 | 6 Episodes
There is something profoundly disturbing about innocent-looking children becoming central figures in a crime drama. Something that gets under my skin far more effectively than violence, blood or the most terrifying criminal.
Perhaps it is the contradiction. The face of a child, something we instinctively associate with innocence, suddenly becomes the most unsettling thing on screen.
And Dear Child, the six-part German psychological thriller, understands this perfectly.
When Innocence Becomes Terrifying
I have always been fascinated by child actors who can do more than simply remember their lines. Children who understand the importance of silence, of facial expressions, of holding a look for just a second longer than expected.
Some people are simply born to act.
Naila Schuberth, who plays Hannah, is one of them.
There is something extraordinary about her performance. Her composure, her eyes, her almost mechanical delivery of certain sentences. She can make you uncomfortable without moving a muscle.
And that is quite an achievement for someone so young.
Alongside her, Sammy Schrein, playing Jonathan, contributes another dimension to the deeply disturbing world these children inhabit.
These are not children behaving as we expect children to behave. They have learned a different version of normality. A world governed by rules, routines and obedience.
And perhaps that is the most frightening element of all. They don’t necessarily recognise the horror of their circumstances because, to them, this is simply life.
Germany, Its History and the Sound of Obedience
Then there is Germany.
A country whose history inevitably carries a weight of its own.
I find the German language particularly powerful in psychological crime dramas. There is a sharpness to its rhythm, a precision in the delivery of words that, within this particular story, becomes almost unbearable.
To my ears, it carries the echoes of a troubled history, one in which authority, control and obedience have acquired meanings far beyond the words themselves.
In Dear Child, every instruction sounds absolute. Every sentence seems to demand compliance. Even the quietest exchanges can feel like orders that nobody would dare disobey.
And that is precisely why watching this series in its original language matters so much to me.
It isn’t simply what the characters say. It is how the words land.
The language becomes part of the psychological confinement, almost another invisible wall surrounding the characters.
Six Episodes. Exactly as Many as Needed.
From the opening episode, Dear Child creates a sensation that is difficult to describe.
My stomach was in knots.
Not necessarily because of what was happening on screen, but because of the constant anticipation of what might happen next.
The series explores captivity, manipulation, trauma and the terrifying consequences of a life in which freedom has become an unfamiliar concept.
Based on Romy Hausmann’s novel, the story unfolds through a carefully controlled series of revelations. Just when you think you understand the circumstances, another detail changes the picture.
And here is something I feel very strongly about.
Six episodes were exactly enough.
Not eight. Not ten. Certainly not a second season stretching a story beyond its natural limits.
Six episodes of sustained psychological tension, without unnecessary diversions or the feeling that the writers are desperately trying to fill time.
Whoever understood that this story needed only six episodes understood television storytelling.
Sometimes the greatest creative decision is knowing when to stop.
On Location: Germany Without the Postcards
Filmed primarily in and around Cologne in North Rhine-Westphalia, with additional locations including Wuppertal, Remscheid and Bonn, Dear Child presents a Germany far removed from the images we usually associate with the country.
There are no romantic cityscapes demanding our attention.
Instead, there is isolation, an oppressive sense of enclosed space, and the terrifying possibility that something unspeakable can exist behind an entirely ordinary exterior.
Even the contrast provided by a coastal location in Belgium cannot entirely release the tension.
The surroundings serve the psychology of the story rather than compete with it.
It is a reminder that sometimes the most frightening place is not somewhere remote or unfamiliar.
It is somewhere that looks perfectly normal.
Final Thoughts
Dear Child left me emotionally unsettled.
Not because it relies on shock for the sake of shock, but because it understands how fear can exist in ordinary language, familiar routines, innocent faces and the smallest expressions.
The children are extraordinary. The atmosphere is suffocating. The storytelling knows precisely when to reveal something and when to remain silent.
And those six episodes?
I wouldn’t add a single one.
Sometimes the most disturbing stories are the ones that know exactly when to end.
WATCH THE TRAILER BELOW
