Words by JANE CROWTHER
Like Anatomy of a Fall, Cristian Mungiu’s unpacking of an accusation is slippery and cool – and that’s not even taking into account the location of the action in a remote Norwegian village that looks like Santa could live next door. Similarly, the relationship at the centre of this legal drama and study of ‘other’ is a marriage, that of Lisbet (Renate Reinsve) and Mihai Gheorghiu (Sebastian Stan). The couple are devout, conservative Christians and returning to Lisbet’s childhood home with their brood of five kids because of economic pressures. As parents, the duo are strict, disciplining their kids perhaps physically – something that the children’s new school worry about when staff notice bruises on their students.
Unapologetic in their faith and parenting, Lisbet and Mihai are under immediate suspicion, all their offspring (including their newborn) removed from them for safety, as Norwegian process shifts into gear for possible criminal charges. It is a snowball effect that gathers pace threatening to obliterate the family, rather like the avalanche that thunders ominously down the mountain towards the school one day.
Mungiu provides shifting perspectives as the Gheorghius try to negotiate this disaster – who is overstepping the mark? The no-nonsense father and his subservient wife? Or the Scandinavian system? Or, indeed, a higher power all-together which is hinted at throughout and only given centre stage in a surprising finale?
Essentially a morality play with the charisma of its two stars tamped down (Stan, in particular, is unrecognisable as a bland, balding tech drone), Mungiu’s film questions Norway’s social and political systems without giving audiences protagonists to root for. While we can sympathise with a baby being wrenched from her mother’s arms or the bewilderment of navigating a complex legal battle, both of the Gheorghiu adults are as icy and inscrutable as the Fjords surrounding their home. Their children are given more life as they bond with their neighbours, but even then, when a twist comes in the final reel, it feels like being blindsided.
This is stately, beautiful filmmaking that builds a tangible sense of time and place through gorgeous lensing and lingering shots, but the human drama sometimes just feels buried under snow.
Words by JANE CROWTHER
Images courtesy of MOBRA FILMS
Fjord premiered at the 79th annual Cannes Film Festival and is in cinema now