Norwegian Cinema: Thelma film Review

Thelma is a supernatural thriller directed by Joachim Trier and stars Eili Harboe in the titular role. This Norwegian film is a fresh and complex take on “superhero” powers that navigates themes of sexuality, trauma, religion and self-discovery.

The film’s eponymous heroine Thelma is able to make things happen; if she wants something, she can manifest it or quite terrifyingly, make it disappear. Narratively, the exploration of such a supernatural power is rich ground for storytelling, and that’s exactly what Trier has achieved here.

Thelma is a beautifully dark coming-of-age story about a sheltered young woman discovering her identity both as an individual away from her overbearing family and in terms of her sexuality. While her dangerous gift could have just become a metaphorical symbol of her otherness or a delusion born out of repressed sexuality, Trier doesn’t settle for a cinematically metaphoric storyline only. This supernatural gift is real and has very tangible consequences in the film, and a flashback that unfolds alongside the main action of the narrative is rather intense and harrowing and brings the film to a crescendo before the final act.

I also liked how in an interview, Trier said that he wanted to make a film that pays tribute to all the people who feel like “freaks” who don’t fit in and still try to find acceptance in that fact (VG, 2017). And at its most basic, that is exactly what Thelma is, a freak finding her place.

“I feel angry with you, God. Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”

Visually, Thelma is stunning. There are lingering shots of nature, erotically charged visuals involving snakes, a very Bergmanesque nod to Persona and stunning moments of VFX that bring the consequences of Thelma’s ability to life.

There is also a really clever visual at the beginning and end of the film where the camera pans in and later away from the crowded Frederikkeplassen (the centre of the UiO Blindern Campus), illustrating the sense of one person being lost in a sea of people.

Another sequence that I found to be particularly beautiful was at the Oslo Opera house; I love the way in which the ballet performance on stage melted into shots of Thelma on the brink of an anxiety-induced seizure. Both elements complimented each other and created frenetic energy that really built up the mounting tension of a rising panic attack.

The colour palette used in Thelma is also rather beautiful, as dark, brooding and cold colours are employed for the most part. However, there are moments where a rich blood-red or lush natural green pierces the shot; these snaps of intense colours symbolise danger and transgressing against the norm and are often seen when Thelma has no control over her ability.

Danish Cinema: Jagten (The Hunt) Review

Directed by Thomas Vinterberg and starring Mads Mikkelsen, Jagten tells the story of Lucas, a warm and kind-hearted school teacher ostracised by his small village, when a lie suggesting that he is a paedophile begins to circulate.

Interestingly (and worryingly), Jagten was inspired by many real-life cases in which false accusations have resulted in similar and far worse outcomes than those portrayed in the film. Also, in many ways, this film is almost a companion piece to, or as Vinterberg himself suggests, is an antithesis to Festen (The Celebration), his breakthrough film, which dealt with a similar issue of child abuse.

Vinterberg cleverly juxtaposes the close-knit charm of village life that Lucas is very much ingrained into at the beginning of the film with his sudden ostracization, and these seemingly nice villagers and close friends very quickly become cruel and violent towards him. It’s a study of how a man’s life and a community as a whole are torn apart by a lie.

The Hunt is a hard film to watch as we know Lucas is completely innocent, and this makes it so frustrating to see him subjected to such relentless viciousness. But this is also where the genius of the film lies because people in real life would act in that way, they would attack or be verbally violent towards someone they wholeheartedly believe to be a child molester; it’s wrong but somehow acceptable behaviour.

Vinterberg also makes it very clear that there are no villains in the film, from the innocent Klara, to the best friend and to Lucas himself. They are simply a group of people who have a massive amount of love for each other and are trying to navigate this inexplicable trauma.

Mads Mikkelsen’s portrayal of Lucas is simply perfect. For anyone only familiar with his work in Casino Royale or Hannibal, where he plays calculating villains, this role may seem rather surprising, but Mikkelsen is such a diverse and truthful performer, and naturally, his best performances are often in Danish productions.

Here in Jagten, he demonstrates a stubborn restraint that is really quite moving as he is just a man desperate for his life to go back to normal. As the tension builds through the film, Mikkelsen’s performance becomes more and more compelling, and one of the best scenes of the film takes place in a church on Christmas Eve, and it’s really quite an excruciating moment to watch.

To bring out the realness of the film’s narrative, cinematographer Charlotte Bruus Christensen uses a handheld camera, and as a result, the audience views the action of the film through an almost documentary-like lens. This, coupled with an abundance of close-up shots, lets the performances drive the film, and that is something that recurs throughout Vinterberg’s filmography (a leftover from his Dogme 95 days, no doubt) which showcases the actors inhabiting their roles completely and a search for authentic fragility.

There are also moments of natural beauty, specifically shots of deer sprinting through woodlands while being hunted, an allusion no doubt to the film’s discussion on predators and prey and the witch hunt that threatens to destroy Lucas’ life.

But more than that it also leans into the idea of masculinity; the annual hunt is a big part of the community; it’s a ritual and a time and place for male bonding. Moreover, Lucas’ son Marcus is given a rifle after turning 16, it’s a symbol of him becoming a man, and perhaps Lucas is symbolically nearly shot at the close of the film to symbolise his loss of masculine power and his lingering ostracisation from his fellow hunters.

In conclusion, I feel like The Hunt is perhaps one of the best films made in the 2010s because of its complex and dynamic story that is both important (in a socio-political sense) and compelling to watch. It features sublime cinematography and a career-best performance from Denmark’s greatest actor working today. This is Vinterberg’s masterpiece.

Danish Cinema: Elsker dig for evigt (Open Hearts) film review

Elsker dig for evigt (lit translates to Love you Forever) is Susanne Bier’s first and only film under the Dogme 95 manifesto. It follows two couples in the aftermath of a car accident that changes their lives irrevocably.

The film’s narrative is simple but effective; Cecilie and Joachim, who are engaged to be married, have their lives thrown into chaos when Joachim is paralysed by a car accident. During his rehabilitation in the hospital, Cecile meets Niels, a doctor who also happens to be the husband of the woman responsible for Joachim’s accident.

The drama and intrigue of this film stem from the complex interlinking of these individuals and how love heals and destroys people.

Due to the very nature of this film being a Dogme 95 film, it is very lo-fi, but that only adds to the absorption of the narrative. The natural lighting and handheld camera cinematography bring you closer to the story; it’s as if real lives are unfolding in front of you.

As always, Mads Mikkelsen stands out, there is just something about his acting that is so compelling, and his performance as a man torn between his family and a forbidden romance is fascinating.

With this film being my first foray into the Dogme 95 movement, it was jarring at first to see low lighting, almost student film-like footage, but I was soon hooked by the performances and story.

Dogme 95 is fascinating because the idea is to strip back the filmmaking process, to cast away the superficialities of the genre, special effects and post-production. It’s raw filmmaking at its best, and I am really intrigued to check out Vinterberg’s Festen (Celebration), which was the first official Dogme 95 film to be made and Von Trier’s Idioterne (The Idiots) because, well, it’s Von Trier, I am kinda fascinated by his filmography.

And maybe I will end up checking out the full roster of Dogme 95 films, there being 35 in total. Also, I feel quite inspired to make movies when I watch films like this because it shows that a low-budget film can be utterly compelling if done well.

French Cinema: Les Confins du monde (To the Ends of the World) film review

Les Confins du monde is directed by Guillaume Nicloux and stars Gaspard Ulliel, Guillaume Gouix, Lang Khê Tran and Gérard Depardieu.

Set during the volatile days of France's colonization of Indochina, most specifically Vietnam, Les Confins du monde follows a soldier on his quest to avenge his brother’s violent murder.

Beautifully shot, Les Confins du monde uses lingering shots on sumptuous jungles and beautifully framed quiet conversations suffused with poeticism to juxtapose with moments of extreme violence and gore.

The opening of the film is a brilliant example of this. The ghostly calm, represented by Ulliel’s Tassen sitting alone with people drifting past in a misty army post, a colour palette of pale blues, greys and greens suddenly becomes a contortion of bodies rendered in deep reds, oranges and rich green. A mass grave of bleeding corpses.

This is a shock to the system, a glimpse at the horrors of war and the film to come. This abrupt shift from peace to violence also represents the nature of guerilla warfare; a moment of solitude and silence very quickly descends into chaos and death.

The narrative of Les Confins du monde is very evocative of Apocalypse Now, and Tassen teeters on the edge of becoming a Colonel Kurtz figure as he obsessively hunts for a revolutionary figure waging a guerilla war against French occupation and Japanese invaders whom he deems responsible for the death and mutilation of his brother and his brother’s wife.

Tassen also falls in love with a Vietnamese prostitute, but his love manifests as control and psychological punishment, and his relationships with his fellow soldiers don’t fair much better.

He is poisoned by the need to avenge; he isolates those around him and breaks rules and causes many to die. It’s a brutal film, and the story sort of just fades off towards the end, symbolising that Tassen will probably never find the man he is hunting and that his whole journey is in the end completely futile.

«Le deuil est une drôle d'épreuve. Un jour, on croit en être sorti, et puis non... Il est toujours là, incrusté avec sa colère»

“Grief is a strange ordeal. One day we think we’re cured, but no… it’s still there indivisible from our anger”

Another central theme to the film is that of grief, Tassen is grieving, but he is blinded by rage and PTSD after being the sole survivor of a massacre. He has quiet conversations with Saintonge, a writer who asserts that he is on no one’s side, that he has fallen in love with Vietnam and its people, but who is ultimately crippled by grief.

Tassen is almost disgusted by Saintonge, by his defeat and continues on his journey. With each loss of life around him, Tassen contorts into a more savage, cruel and empty version of himself. This in itself is what makes the film interesting to watch, the study of a broken man on a deadly and endless quest.

French Cinema: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu (Portrait of a Lady on Fire) film review

Portrait de la jeune fille en feu is a historical drama directed by Céline Sciamma.

The film tells the story of a forbidden love affair between an aristocrat and a painter; being both women in 18th-century France, the romance between Marianne (Noémie Merlant) and Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) is deemed by society just as much a social taboo as it is a sexual one.

The film competed at Cannes for the Palme d'Or but instead won the Queer Palm, a significant achievement as Céline Sciamma is the first woman to win the prize.

I love how female-orientated this film is: Céline Sciamma, the director is a lesbian woman, the cast is literally just women (except a few male extras here and there), the cinematographer, yes, you guessed it is a woman, Claire Mathon, to be precise and I am fast becoming a fan of her work. And this shows big time in how the film feels. There is no male gaze, and there are difficult issues such as abortion present.

Moreover, through Marianne, a female artist, the art world and its restrictions on women are challenged; traditionally, the woman is the muse but here, she can play both roles, the painter and the muse.

And at the very crux of the story is the beautiful, passionate and poetic love that Marianne and Héloïse have for each other. It’s safe to say that the ending of the film broke my heart, I sobbed and ugly cried long after the credits rolled. Even thinking about page number 28 or the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice chokes me up, and ‘Summer’ from Vivaldi's Four Seasons will never be the same.

«Vous pensez que tous les amants ont le sentiment d'inventer quelque chose?»

‘Do all lovers feel they’re inventing something?’

This film is exquisitely shot, the cinematography feels like a painting and the stolen looks and glances between Marianne and Héloïse are shown in beautifully framed close-ups. Portrait de la jeune fille en feu feels like a love letter to love, to Queer love and to the poetry of the soulmate.

The symbolism in Orpheus and Eurydice is heartbreaking, and when Héloïse calls for Marianne to turn around and look at her one last time, you can’t help but feel a dagger in your heart. It’s almost criminal that this film did not get nominated for Best International Feature Film at the Oscars, as it quite clearly could have won.

Portrait de la jeune fille en feu is a masterpiece of cinema. And like Call Me By Your Name, Moonlight, and a plethora of other exquisitely shot LGBTQ+ films, Portrait de la jeune fille en feu proves that love outside of heteronormativity is beautiful and worthy of a place in cinema and should be celebrated all year round and not just in Pride Month.