This year’s Palme d’Or winner is opaque. This is for many reasons. The most obvious is the presentation of its story, with numerous characters and three different languages, in a country that most of its viewers won’t be intimately familiar with. The second most obvious is the number of issues it tackles, from religion, to parenting and child abuse, to immigration. It poses several questions, like, how do we approach assimilation and diversity, and, how do we define child abuse? But perhaps the most important reason that this film is indecipherable is it does not give obvious answers to those questions.
Fjord is about two parents, one Romanian (played by Sebastian Stan), and one Norwegian (played by Renate Reinsve), who are accused by the Norwegian government of violence towards their children. They admit to “slapping” their children and connect this practice to their religion, specifically Christianity. The film presents this as a conflict between parents who go too far in disciplining their children and a government that goes too far in prosecuting those parents. It clearly takes those viewpoints, but refuses to take a side. There is no “good guy” and “bad guy” dynamic in this film.
There is an integrity to this approach. It opens up a conversation and begs us to discuss how we would answer the questions posed. These issues are complex, but at the same time, most audience members will think they have definitive answers. People feel strongly about these issues, and by taking this approach, the film runs the risk of feeling less like a referee and more like a spectator. Surely some will think of the old saying that “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good [people] to do nothing.”
There is potentially an answer hiding in this film. But it is cryptic and potentially unsatisfying. An older man named Ake is slowly dying, which potentially parallels the slow death of the “old ways” that are at issue in Fjord. Simply pointing out that something is growing out of fashion does not condemn it. The issue is not that Fjord is neutral, the issue is that some people may misconstrue its neutrality as endorsement in an unintended way.
But Fjord is still a success, partially because it does tackle those issues, but also because it is excellently crafted. The cast is generally strong, and the script feels like a drip-feed of tension that is expertly paced throughout the runtime. Its use of natural lighting and Norwegian scenery creates a feeling of coldness that emphasizes the anxiety in the minds of all the characters. The ending leaves you craving more, not because you are unsatisfied but because these characters are so compelling. Perhaps most importantly, the film shies away from cheap emotional appeals. Rather, the film feels natural and, as a result, the audience can accept the events as plausible, even if somewhat inflammatory. In fact, the film could be faulted for being too tame, as real life tends to be even messier than the events portrayed.
Fjord, like its story, is not a conclusion, but a beginning. It does not seek to provide a definitive statement on the issues that it raises, but it raises them so beautifully that one can’t help but praise it. It can’t be guaranteed that everyone who watches it will walk away happy, in fact, many will likely be frustrated. But hopefully even those who are frustrated can walk away understanding the elegance contained in this material.
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