For as long as cinema has been around, it has been in thrall to the vulnerability of women. Whether they are tied to railway tracks or being stalked in the night, female characters are often victims in service of plot. But for the protagonist of Cate Shortland’s psychological drama, Berlin Syndrome – a young woman whose victimhood is precisely the point – a woman’s vulnerability is the starting point for a fascinating interrogation of that position.

“I love stories about overcoming hurt and how we get through it: ‘How do we continue?’ I like the idea that we’re not static,” the Australian film-maker says. The female protagonists of Shortland’s two previous films – Somersault (2004) and Lore (2012) – are often made vulnerable, but refuse to be defined by it. That’s the case whether they are dealing with their burgeoning sexuality in suburban Canberra or braving the Allied invasion of their German homeland circa 1945. In much the same way, Shortland’s new film shows a woman in circumstances outside her control, and plunged into a situation where the power dynamics of gender are made clear.

Berlin Syndrome is a claustrophobic, harrowing drama about a young woman, Clare (Teresa Palmer) travelling alone. After a casual fling with a handsome Berliner, Andi (Max Riemelt), she awakes to find her sim card removed from her phone – and the door to his apartment bolted shut. She is a captive, and the man who had been a magnetic sexual conquest hours earlier is not what he seemed.

Riemelt turns in an impressive performance as Andi, a bourgeois English teacher by day, callous kidnapper by night. It’s the character’s very normality that’s so chilling. “The film is being marketed as a thriller,” Shortland says. “To me, it’s not about the genre, but about the emotional truth of these people ... and Andi’s ability to be a good liberal who can just turn off his humanity.”

Rather than a clearcut treatise on abuse and control, Berlin Syndrome casts an eye on the troubling sexual attraction between the two characters. Clare and Andi waver between loathing and lust for one another throughout her forced confinement. “She goes into that apartment wanting to take a risk – a one-night stand – but never expecting what happens. And I think that’s a part of female desire, this idea of taking risks.”

The idea that some physical danger comes with the territory of sexual desire is one that few women want to consider too deeply. “We’re fed the idea as little girls,” Shortland says. “‘We’re told there is a big, bad wolf out there, and it’s scary. Think of all the old stories about women being trapped and romance coming from it – Rapunzel, Beauty and the Beast. When you get older, you play with that idea. But you don’t want it in any real sense.”

Filming was split between location shoots in the streets of Berlin and re-created interiors in Melbourne. In the past, Shortland has shown a real visual and thematic affinity for nature. Berlin Syndrome is a bit of a departure, taking place wholly in an urban setting. But Clare’s very exclusion from greenery and fresh air are built into the cruelty of her entrapment. Her only markers of passing time are changing leaves and falling snow. Shortland approached the confined, darkened visual style of the film with an eye for her protagonist’s physical and emotional imprisonment. “My cinematographer, Germain McMicking, has worked on a lot of documentaries. So we thought about the film in terms of the character in that real space. It starts off quite handheld, but as she is confined, the camera becomes steadier and more settled. So we looked at the feel of it based on her emotions.”

The apartment that Clare is trapped in is based a real one, in the Prenzlauer Berg neighbourhood of Berlin. “It was a 50- or 60-apartment building with [only] about eight apartments occupied. But all of our young people are flocking there. It’s kind of a beautiful idea, wanting to get out and explore, and hoping the artistic and cultural dynamic of the city will rub off on you. It’s a place with a lot of community feeling, but in winter it’s also an incredibly monstrous, grey, miserable place.” That sense of abandonment and ruin is oppressive in Berlin Syndrome, with the housebound Clare turning her glazed stare to the window as the seasons change. The excitement of the city seems long gone.

Regardless of setting or style, Shortland has exclusively, opted for women protagonists in her films. But what about the dearth of women on the other side of the camera? “We have a history in Australia of women making films. In the 1970s and 1980s, Gillian Armstrong and Jane Campion were setting up situations to give young women access to film. So it just seemed natural to me. It never seemed like something I couldn’t do. And now I see how privileged I was as a young woman to feel that because I’m not sure it’s the case any more.

“We thought gender had been addressed, but as soon as we stopped funding particular places for young women at film schools, they stopped being taken. The second we stopped yelling and stamping our feet, there was a backslide.”

Shortland is a touch more optimistic about the opportunities presented by TV. “The stories we’re telling in television are naturally oriented toward women’s stories. Our stories are often not epic, but start small and build. And I think TV is a wonderful platform for that.” She is in preproduction on a mini-series called The Monaro – a female-oriented crime drama based on real Australians of the early 19th century. If Berlin Syndrome is anything to go by, Shortland’s dedication to her women protagonists – their ferocity, vulnerability, and their sexual appetites – will make it an intriguing watch.

Berlin Syndrome is released in the UK on 9 June.