In “Drei Kameradinnen”, reality is never quite as straightforward as it seems. Through fragmented memories, conflicting accounts, and a media narrative that increasingly blurs the line between fact and fiction, Milena Aboyan explores who gets to define the truth, and who gets to be believed.

At its centre are three friends: Kasih (Bayan Layla), Hani (Brikena Ray), and Saya (Manal Raga a Sabit). While Kasih struggles to find work despite having completed her sociology degree with excellent results, Hani works long hours for little pay, trying to navigate a society that offers her little room to breathe. Saya, recently returned from abroad, is more outspoken. She criticises Germany’s handling of right-wing extremism, particularly the ongoing trial of a far-right terrorist group responsible for a series of arson attacks. She questions the exclusion of the public from the proceedings and the apparent prioritisation of perpetrators over victims.

When Saya is arrested days later on suspicion of arson, the media quickly constructs a narrative of radicalisation, framing her as part of an alleged Islamist and left-wing extremist counter-movement. Kasih is approached by journalists eager to make sense of Saya’s supposed transformation. But much of what is presented as evidence has been stripped of context, shaped by leading questions, or manipulated to fit a story already in circulation.

Aboyan tells the story in episodic, non-linear fragments, returning to the same moments through different versions of Kasih’s memories. A childhood playground, for instance, becomes the setting for contrasting accounts. One recalls a carefree childhood in the 1990s, while another reproduces the familiar media image of a troubled, low-income neighborhood. Neither version fully captures reality. Instead, the truth emerges somewhere between them, shaped by memory, perspective, and the stories we tell ourselves.

The film’s restless energy is amplified by techno music and animated sequences, at times recalling “Run Lola Run“. Yet beneath its formal experimentation lies the more unsettling question of how much of what we believe is actually our own perception, and how much has been shaped by the images and narratives we consume?

In its final minutes, “Drei Kameradinnen“ radically reconfigures everything that came before. What initially appears to be a story about friendship, belonging, and resilience becomes something far more devastating. The film exposes the limits of the belief that hard work and good behaviour will guarantee acceptance, revealing how conditional that promise can be for those who are constantly made to feel like outsiders.

Ultimately, “Drei Kameradinnen“ is a reminder that people are too often reduced to stereotypes, their lives interpreted through assumptions rather than understanding. When the stories we are fed become the only stories we know, Kasih’s question remains: “Look at the images. What is real?”

“Drei Kameradinnen” opens in German cinemas on 5th November.