☆☆☆☆
It is impossible not to be captivated by Norway. Even before I made a bucket-list trip there years ago, I had seen its picturesque villages tucked at the foot of massive mountains. I had seen crystal-clear glacial waters of its fjords and read about the socially progressive policies that ensure more people are happy in Scandinavian countries than anywhere in the world.
More. Not all.
So, yes, I had succumbed to the image of Norway as a nation that must be close to perfect. But I've also grown jaded with age, so I never imagined that Norway, or any country, could really be everything it seems.
Then I saw Fjord, from Romanian filmmaker Cristian Mungiu, and just like the country itself it begins by drawing us in. It's as appealing to us as it is to Romanian engineer Mihai and his wife, Lisbet. She's Norwegian by birth, and along with their five children, they do their best to acclimate. Naturally, it's easier for Lisbet, though maybe only a little because of her language fluency. The Gheorghiu family finds, though, that there are problems.
Most are caused by their conservative religious beliefs. These are not young, agnostic Norwegians. Nor are they Lutherans, the dominant Norwegian religion. They are staunch Christians, who have a strict, deeply conservative moral code that extends to their parenting. Still, the community seems to welcome the family ... to a point. There comes a moment that either Mihai or Lisbet or both have, it seems, done something to one or more of their children. The teachers and educators who have the duty to report suspected abuse are sure of it.
But are they? And what happened? One of the most extraordinary things about Fjord is that it shows us almost exactly what happened, but in such an offhanded, casual way — the film is both rigidly constructed and surprisingly loose — that we might not even notice. Most people will, it's almost certain, not understand its significance.
Yet it is significant: so much so, that Mihai and Lisbet find themselves at the center of a controversy that, by the end of the film, grows to involve the entire country. Fjord may begin with a nearly lackadaisical nature, but as it nears its climax it will make your blood boil.
Based at least in part on a real incident in Norway, the movie becomes increasingly confrontational, both toward its characters and toward the audience. It asks everyone involved to question whether they are quite as liberal or progressive or open-minded or forgiving as they'd like to think. Acting in official state capacities, the people who accuse Mihai and Lisbet of nearly unthinkable crimes all do so with the best of intentions. And as they do, they slowly unravel the ties that bind this close-knit, deeply religious family.
Fjord stars Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve as the parents. Stan is Romanian by birth, even if most audiences think of him as a mainstream American star. Reinsve, who starred in last year's Sentimental Value and this year's Backrooms, is Norwegian — and, increasingly, a performer who disappears into a role with alarming ease. Both of them deliver powerful, deeply felt performances as the parents, with Stan so frumpy and reserved that he's almost unrecognizable.
As Mihai and Lisbet, they are not showy, either as performers or as characters. They play immigrants who are reserved and a little odd and uncomfortable. Neither one makes any of their friends or neighbors feel entirely at ease, and it's clear they have views on parenting that are at odds with the modern world. And yet, like Fred Schepisi's A Cry in the Dark, about the Lindy Chamberlain case in Australia, the question always looms: is disliking them enough to accuse them?
Though it begins with a slow, languorous lack of focus, Fjord sharpens into a forceful examination of individual liberty and progressive values. By interrogating Norway's deeply held progressive values, Fjord exposes just how much they begin to resemble the very things they are supposed to stand against, only from a different perspective — a perspective that can be just as oppressive and just as painful as the worst authoritarianism.
It's enough to make you look twice at those picture-postcard views.
Viewed November 2, 2026 — Regal Sherman Oaks
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