If ever there was a film meant to be mistaken for centrist apologia (if not outright propaganda), it’s Romanian director Cristian Mungiu The Fjorda hot social drama that won him a second Palme d’Or. However, its emotional intensity is contradictory, so any conflicting feelings when you look at it on a political basis are unwarranted. Building on an intangible court that is being explored RMN-his previous film, about the machinery of rising anti-immigrant sentiments-The Fjord it traces the most fragile, most malleable dynamics of modern democracy, to a child designed to be deeply provocative in order to create difficult self-examination.
It is, on top of it, rather simple. A remote, developing Norwegian town becomes the new home of a deeply religious couple from Romania: software developer Mihai Gheorghiu (Sebastian Stan) and his Norwegian nurse wife Lisbet (Renate Reinsve). Their strict, evangelical parent spreads rumors and prompts a Child Welfare Services investigation when one of their teenage children arrives at school with unexplained bruises. However, this conflict between citizens and the government is not only one of the variables of the system, but it is an intractable problem caused by a conflict of ideas. If one were to follow the arcs and characters, in the traditional sense, not many changes in the 146 minutes of the movie. However, Mungiu’s controlled nature, and his actors’ carefully restrained performances, turn the movie’s thematic landscape into an inevitable moral minefield.
While its structure is more like a didactic Bollywood drama Mrs Chatterjee vs Norway-film based on true events-The FjordThe myth is constructed (carefully, in a technical sense) to appear very Socratic. However, from its opening shots, where Stan is balding, towering over his children while showing love, it is clear that Mungiu is not only drawing on cultural (and perhaps personal) knowledge, but is creating a strange face intended both to sow doubt and emotional manipulation. There is a consistency in how Gheorghius is written, as if it symbolizes everything that Scandinavian society holds dear (from socialist principles to self-proclaimed liberalism in theology). And yet, the detailed humanism with which Mungiu carves these stark characters turns The Fjord from a simple thought experiment to a thriller with a sense of self-awareness. It’s hard not to criticize even the most intense debate between Norwegian nationalism and evangelical faith when the slanted cross of the Norwegian flag flies in the air just outside the character’s window, taking up half of the frame. Where you go will not distinguish where you have been, so the Romanian Mihai may also symbolize Norway’s association with Christian extremism.
Stan, of late, has become a controversial actor in his rise to stardom at Marvel, including his Berlinale Best Actor-winning role in the satire. A Different Man and his Oscar-nominated turn as Donald Trump Student. With The Fjordhe completes an even more confusing transformation, as a terrifying father whose silence embodies the firmness of his convictions, and whose strong love shines on the screen in terrifying colors, even (mostly) in the quiet moments. Reinsve, on the other hand, follows her glamorous roles as a modern woman in search of herself The Worst Man in the World again Emotional Value (don’t carry it anymore A Different Man and) by comparing the apparently reserved appearance and the mystery of how she directly relates to her domineering husband, her five children of various ages, and their culture at large, behind closed doors. We only see what Mungiu wants us to see, as if the film were a courtroom scene, but Mungiu’s leading characters create deceptive habits with confidence, and in the process, conjure up opportunities for imagination that are sure to instill everything from love to loathing in the average viewer.
The couple’s older children, Elia (Vanessa Ceban) and Emmanuel (Jonathan Ciprian Breazu), befriend the daughter of their new neighbors, a little girl named Noora (Henrikke Lund-Olsen), who seems intent on getting them into trouble. Jealousy at school and unusual interactions around their homes suggest that their friendships can drive a wedge between their siblings and their parents. But before this narrative came to fruition, vigilant school staff and the country’s swift legal system took immediate action to take Elia, Emmanuel and three younger siblings into their parents’ care, on suspicion of physical abuse.
Gheorghius’ strict biblical parentage (in a country where 70 percent of the population is atheist) informs a cultural theory that sits close to the real concerns of the system. However, once these preconceived notions are revealed, The Fjord it does not seek to tear itself down, challenge or strengthen itself. Rather, they are a core element of the movie’s background, which exists in a consistent way that anchors the film’s sequential trial with circumstances that are entirely unavoidable. However, this prediction is part of Mungiu’s method of constructing a proverb where answers, especially simple ones, do not present themselves. The drama provides enough techniques to ensure that you will come to quick conclusions about what did or did not happen, in a strong sense of reality. But soon, the movie expands on the scope of the theme, to answer larger philosophical questions.
FJORD ★★★1/2 (3.5/4 stars) |
It becomes an anxiety-inducing stress test of progressive belief, not focusing on the “right” or “wrong” truth of the case, but on equality itself, and preserving democratic freedoms when those at risk are suspicious, disgusted, or inherently hurtful. “My beliefs are not on trial,” Mihai says at one point, after spending much of the film happily accepting the support of violent extremists to get his children back. And yet, there is no avoiding the idea that he is right, whether his actions and his methods should prevent it or not.
As the film progresses, one can conjure up countless ethical reasons—as do many of the Norwegian characters—to see the Gheorghius stripped of their rights as parents, right down to the homophobia that seems to fall on their young children. However, the foundation of the democratic ideal is the equal application of the law, and balancing these values against their extreme manifestations is a task we must engage in. The Fjordreal or otherwise, it complicates what equality means, in any supposedly progressive society that values multiculturalism. It’s hard not to wonder (and be troubled) by Mungiu’s open uncertainty, about the extent to which freedom and personal beliefs can or should be violated.
Even if there is a legal or moral correctness in the actions of the state, the very context that Gheorghius is a minority in Norway—even if their religion promotes fascism elsewhere, like Brazil or the United States—creates a broad, structural reorientation of the movie drama along the lines of David and Goliath (the comparison of the film makes even more enthusiasm). And in addition to its legal and moral dimensions, there is also an emotional aspect, and a human aspect, expressed in complex colors by Stan and Reinsve, and enhanced by the roving camera of Mungiu as he sits beside them in an uninterrupted take, as both observers and participants in the legal proceedings.
Beyond a certain point, the coldness of Mungiu’s signature blue palette is warmed by the mixed presence of Mihai and Lisbet, prompting an empathy that any liberal or leftist viewer would understandably resist. Because at the core of The Fjord it is not a pursuit of answers, but rather, to face endless questions, about the limits of personal autonomy in a modern civilization that claims to be truly democratic. Even if one believes that the state should be given these responsibilities – as one might well do in hindsight. The Fjord—Mungiu’s lens opposes the self-proclaimed enlightenment of impartiality, in order to reveal the problems associated with this alleged Utopianism.
Such is the nature of human society. It is frictional and fractal. Something, some kind of pretense or conflict, has to go away… but what do you do when you get to that place? What can you do? How do you stay right when the greater good involves inevitable harm, no matter where you land? This is the despair that exists in which Mungiu works, and from which comes the drama of the movie.
Perhaps the nature of belief is that, beyond a certain point, it is immovable, and few minds will be significantly changed by even the most controversial court case (not to mention a politically charged Palme recipient). But in the case of The Fjordthe film makes it necessary to be aware of the breakdown of the personal burden that carries the mind, emotions and morals, if only to prevent their eventual breakdown.
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