An unrecognizable Marvel star leads what is sure to become one of the most controversial films of the year.
A few weeks before the release of the Palme d’Or winning film Fjord (in select theaters Friday, October 9), the film’s lead actor, Sebastian Stan, was already on defense against the film’s allegedly right-wing politics. In response to rumors from this year’s Cannes Film Festival that Fjord was essentially a “MAGA movie,” Stan said, with critics prejudging the film based on its premise.
“A lot of these reactions are from people who haven’t seen the movie,” Stan said. Variety in September. “It shows why we need more films like this: to remind us that there was a time when people could meet, disagree and at least get along.”
Sébastien Stan.
It’s true that Fjord, from Romanian New Wave filmmaker Cristian Mungiu, looks more like an Angel Studios drama than a potential Oscar frontrunner, alongside a gay war epic and a comedy about swinging.
(WARNING: Spoilers ahead)
Inspired by the story of Ruth and Marius Bodnariu, Fjord follows evangelical couple Mihai (Stan) and Lisbet Gheorghiu (Renate Reinsve), suspected of child abuse after moving to a small town in Lisbet’s native Norway. The country’s child welfare services seized the Gheorghius’ five children, including their infant who still needed breast milk. The film follows the bitter legal battle that crosses the line between child protection and religious persecution.
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When labeling Fjord a “MAGA movie” is a bit of a lazy generalization – after all, it’s set in Norway – it’s easy to see how the film could excite conservative pundits like Ben Shapiro and Megyn Kelly, while also getting under the skin of some liberals. For most moviegoers, however, Mungiu’s reflection will likely have a less exciting effect than expected.
The truth about Fjord is this: Iit’s so rudimentary and, sometimes, silly that it was difficult to arouse real indignation. The film is essentially over two hours in which Mungiu asks the viewer, “What if discrimination happened to conservatives?” and insisting that all religions matter.
The family at the center of the film constitutes an odd group in Norway’s largely irreligious society. The children do not have cell phones and study the Bible in the evening. They recite the scriptures while doing their household chores and talk casually about the consequences of sin. Their lifestyle contrasts sharply with that of the school’s principal, Mats (Markus Tønseth), and his rebellious daughter, Noora (Henrikke Lund-Olsen), who immediately takes an interest in the Gheorghius’ eldest daughter, Elia (Vanessa Ceban). Mats, on the other hand, is suspicious of Gheorghius and evangelicals in general, raising an eyebrow at all their religious customs and anyone who plays “Amazing Grace” on the piano.
One day, Elia arrives at school with bruises on the back of his neck after getting into trouble at home. The teachers overhear his brother Emmanuel (Jonathan Ciprian Breazu) discussing the source of his bruises and immediately question the siblings. After the two children confess that their parents inflict corporal punishment on them, the police and CPS agents inform Mihai and Lisbet that they are under criminal investigation and in the meantime take custody of all their offspring.
Sebastian Stan, Jonathan Ciprian Breazu, Teodora Sabina Barau, Vanessa Ceban and Renate Reinsve.
From there, Fjord launches into a slow procedural drama that seems over from the start. Mungiu constructs an inert and straightforward trial, asking questions about what really happened to Elia — and whether the audience should really care — only to have them answered quickly or previously settled in an earlier scene.
It’s abundantly clear how the cards are stacked against Mihai and Lisbet, as they endure the most stupid cross-examinations by Christian-hating prosecutors. There is also the problem of Norwegian child protection services, which are portrayed as a nefarious and shadowy entity run by greedy social workers. Their interactions with the Gheorghiu family are robotic and cold, as if they cannot act in good faith and truly care about the safety of their children.
Other opposition characters are ridiculously cartoonish, ranging from a deranged lawyer to the children’s temporary guardian, who is dismayed by the Gheorghiu family’s YouTube ban. Meanwhile, Mats hides amid the Gheorghius legal scandal with a permanent scowl.
The viewer anticipates Elia’s indispensable perspective on her parents’ mistreatment throughout the trial, but the film seems more concerned with Mihai and Lisbet’s truth than its own. When we see Elia and Emmanuel during the investigation, they are strangely impassive about their sudden rehousing, and they don’t seem interested in helping their parents. (It’s not entirely clear whether their home lives are so terrible that they aren’t disrupted by something so traumatic, especially in a brand new country, or whether Mungiu thinks the children don’t have the emotional depth or intellect to deal with such matters.)
The treatment of adolescents in Fjord is notably mediocre compared to the better but less lively awards season courtroom drama, Josephine. Beth de Araújo’s fiery feature takes seriously the inner life of its titular juvenile (Mason Reeves), as his innocence is violated by his sudden knowledge of rape. In the meantime, Fjord essentially silences her children regarding their own experiences, granting more authority to the unreliable adults in the room.
Erik Hivju and Renate Reinsve.
Similarly, Mungiu avoids any real exploration of corporal punishment, its psychological effects on children, and the way it is often rationalized by religious and cultural norms, as when the film discusses Mihai’s Romanian origins. Instead, the film maintains throughout that Mihai only “slapped” his children “on the butts.” If you think he deserves a prison sentence for this, which is the only path of justice presented to the viewer, you are just as bad as the insincere progressives who are destroying families in Norway.
It’s not a fault of a film to see its cogs working, but only when they produce something truly worthwhile. Aside from stunning vistas and solid but strangely restrained performances from Stan and Reinsve (these characters are terribly cold to the idea of their children being left in the care of strangers), the film has little to offer between all the gestures and signposts it does to get the audience on the side of its unlikely martyrs – and especially in showing any interest in the psychology of its characters.
Mungiu might think that his call for neutrality seems urgent or that centering white Christians in a story of family separation is subversive. But for those who have suffered the effects of the Trump regime for a decade now, the director’s exercise in reverse discrimination fails.
What could have been a rich exploration of family, religion, and assimilation is unfortunately a sleepy lecture that much of its audience doesn’t need to hear. It remains an open question whether the MAGA faithful will ultimately make the film their Oscar season crusade.
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