This is going to be a tricky film to write about. Partly because this is a Norwegian film, a part of world cinema culture that I know even less about than what I usually cover on here (I covered the literal first Norwegian film I ever saw right here only a few years ago), but mainly because trying to encompass everything this film is going for in my usual style is a tall order. This film is a lot, and where that would normally a warning for others, I mean that in the sense that it deals in ‘a lot’. But if I had to strain and give an early summary of my thoughts on the film in a single sentence, the best I can come up with is “two hours of the most unvarnished depiction of the Millennial experience I’ve ever seen”.
Ostensibly, this is a romantic dramedy, following Julie (Renate Reinsve) as she struggles to figure out what she wants to do with her life, and who she might want to share that life with. As someone who regularly partakes in the industry’s favourite sport of mocking the hell out of rom-com tropes, I not only find it quite refreshing that, far as I can tell, none of the usual suspects are anywhere near this production, but the overall attempts at grounded realism are among the best I’ve seen yet.
Even with the inclusion of the magic mushroom scene, or the weird magical-realism scene where time just stops for an entire day, or even when Julie and Eivind (Herbert Nordrum) share each other’s smells and bodily functions (which is somehow nowhere near as gross as that statement makes it sound), there isn’t a speck of artificiality to be found. The acting from Reinsve, Nordrum and Anders Danielsen Lie as Aksel is outstanding, and every piece of writing they speak resonates with every syllable.
Said writing courtesy of director Joachim Trier and co-writer Eskil Vogt touches on many aspects of the aging Millennial experience, where conflicting ideas about what a person is “meant” to do with their lives, with their time, with their bodies, has led many of them, including Julie, to be completely flummoxed as to what to do next. Split up into twelve chapters, as well as a prologue and epilogue, each segment adds a new facet to the general examination of what makes this generation act as they do, while also bolstering a much larger picture that is the confused life of Julie herself.
This is one of those situations where, even if the film didn’t deliver it all with this level of smoothness, the sheer volume of questions and ideas being presented would’ve garnered my respect all on their own. Wrestling with outside expectations, the struggle of sharing your experiences with others, feeling like you’re in competition with people who regularly quip about how things were back in ‘their’ day, the guilt that comes from trying to be an ethical consumer, retreating into psychedelics to get away from it all, making decisions when you might never find out if you made the right one, and how staring at the prospect of your own future is pretty friggin’ terrifying. I’ve made mention in past reviews about how much nostalgia itself is weaponised in the film industry, but considering all this baggage within my own generation… is it any wonder we find ourselves pining for simpler days?
Like I said, it’s a lot to deal with, both as packaged in a cinematic production and as lived experience… which leads me to the title. It isn’t any kind of direct declaration concerning Julie or any of the other characters from the point-of-view of the author, but instead a condemnation of themselves in their own words. Julie hates herself for every minor social faux pas and how fidgety she can be with her own life’s direction, Eivind hates himself for not being able to live up to the examples of those around him (romantic partners included), and Aksel hates himself because he knows that only his art will survive beyond him, and the reactions to said art haven’t been that great. When a person is being pushed from all sides, by their friends, by their family, by their peers, by their teachers, etc., there’s no room for an external reaction… so it all goes inwards. And they put all the blame on themselves for not being able to live up to what everyone else wants from them.
As viewed by the audience, and even as viewed by each other, there’s no sign of flagellation for the respective slights of these characters. It doesn’t take the all-too-easy generational view where (and this goes far beyond just the Millennials) the newest generation always has it easier that those that came before, and instead acknowledges that, while still temporally-specific to this group of people, these existential dilemmas exist in most people. It’s just being refracted through a specific lens to highlight that, for as much as Millennials are put down as just ‘them young people today’, we’ve been around for longer than most are willing to admit. And we’ve been dealing with a lot of internal shit that directly interferes with the idea of being a productive member of society, whatever in the hell that even means to begin with.
This is easily one of the deepest narratives I’ve seen on-screen all year. Not necessarily because it’s all that cerebral, but in the sense that this felt like I was experiencing a story that had a lot of work put into it. It’s an incredibly dense story that deals with a lot of existential angst, and yet it’s quite breezy and conversational, as all those heavy questions come not from standard post-modern navel-gazing, but by just… feeling it. Feeling every moment of frightened introspection as the characters gain their small victories and learn that implosion doesn’t have to be the answer. It’s remarkably poignant, even considering my weakness for art about the healing power of art (complete with one of the frankest uses of comic books I’ve seen in a film in years), and as someone who has been dealing with a lot of the shit contained within this story… I take a great deal of comfort from that.
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