Among the international filmmakers that had a significant run over this past decade was Danish director Joachim Trier. There is something to be said about how he taps into the human condition, finding humanity in these character studies that are a bit subdued, but so full of emotion. I remember the thrill of watching Oslo August 31 (2012) in which a recovering drug addict returns home only to have everyone in his life doubt him. Despite the forward push towards a better life, Trier’s ability to focus on exterior factors holding one back made for an impressive drama even within its simple format. Given that his sole English language film Louder Than Bombs (2015) finds a dysfunctional family story that goes in an equally strange direction, I think that he’s slowly developed a reputation as one of the more underrated filmmakers out there.
With his latest film The Worst Person in the World (2021) receiving attention at film festivals, it will only be time until he returns to the public consciousness. I’m eager to see if this will be the one that finally breaks him through in a meaningful way. With that said, he and co-writer Eskil Vogt (who had a worthwhile directorial title in Blind (2014)) are so fascinating when it comes to exploring the human condition. They capture the loneliness and longing of the characters so perfectly. There are these small divides between the individual and society, and Trier captures them not as some loud and obvious metaphor, but as some parasite eating away at the integrity of their character.
While it’s arguable whether this qualifies as a horror film worthy of being watched this Halloween season, Thelma (2017) is one of the strangest bright spots in Trier’s filmography. For the first time, he has allowed himself to dive into the supernatural, the metaphysical that ultimately teases comparisons to comic book titles. The story centers around Thelma (Eili Harboe) as she discovers that she has some hidden powers inside herself. Sure, it sounds like the source for an X-Men character but what Trier and Vogt do is far more interesting than building to some grand CGI fight scene where she takes down a powerful foe. It is a story of understanding oneself through superpowers, but it’s also one that ties perfectly to the rest of their filmography.
Much like the protagonist of Oslo August 31 navigating a world that only thinks of him negatively in the past tense, Thelma is misunderstood by society. Her powers have made her an outcast, a freak. Nobody truly understands what her deal is, but it makes sense why she represses her powers. So much of the energy inside can be seen as hazardous, hurting those around her even by accident. It’s the type of allegory for youth that may feel predictable but features so much ingenuity in Trier’s hands when the restrictiveness plays in their favor. Tension is hidden in the invisible details, waiting to be released. This isn’t often for vindictive reasons, but an effort to try and be perceived as normal. Thelma would love to not worry about these problems, and yet there they are, giving her caution every time she thinks to let her guard down, literally and metaphorically.
Trier does a great job of conveying the struggles of these uncontrollable urges by placing her under constant scrutiny not only by her peers but by her parents. There is a need to perform tests on her, some unethical, to try and keep these powers from getting “worse.” It’s easy to understand why she has personal shame around this side of her. All she wants to do is fit in, and where she can’t run from the fact that everyone is doing everything to remind her of what makes her fail to be normal. It’s a relatable premise for anyone who feels like their body is rejecting them, who thinks that something internal is rebelling.
So what exactly keeps this from simply being another superhero allegory? It is true that the westernized version of this story may feature more theatrics and contracts for sequels. There would be a whole world of merchandise, some literal sense of us vs. them that no supernatural story seems to go without. While there are characters who are naturally good and evil in Thelma, it doesn’t fall into the conventional structure, this sense of convenience that winning a fight constitutes emotional growth. It’s something more intimate and personal, reflecting more growth in Thelma’s life than anything changing significantly in the world around her.
That isn’t entirely true. There is one figure in Thelma’s life who provides a catalyst. When attending university in Oslo, Thelma meets Anja (Kaya Wilkins). There’s some affection there, a desire to grow close and form a deeper connection. It’s a new sensation for her, and as a result, there are a million emotions and hormones running through her head. The powers again spiral out of control and once again it brings about shame, the subtext being that her queer urges are wrong and something to be embarrassed by. That’s how it starts at least before evolving into a greater narrative, where the journey is just as much about learning how to control her powers as it is learning to love somebody else in a healthy and rational way.
It should be noted that this is at best a broad overview of the film. There is something revelatory of going into this one blind, discovering the world it creates on your own. Don’t expect some Americanized take on things (at least until the proposed Craig Gillespie version). This is about a greater metaphor that is rarely allowed to be explored. It’s a story about personal shame in your identity, in fear of your disability being seen as a hindrance. It’s about the insecurity about finding someone who makes you realize for the first time that you’re capable of being loved for you, and not merely tolerated. There’s a rejuvenation in this feeling, so full of life. For the first time, Thelma feels alive.
As one can guess, the growth and control of her powers throughout the story correlate to her own confidence. Even as the forces continue to push back, she finds ways to defend herself with more sturdiness. It is very little on the surface that necessarily suggests that this is a unique take on familiar territory, but then again Trier isn’t interested in conventions. He’s always been driven by characters, whose strength comes from living in spite of conflict. Thelma’s journey isn’t convenient, full of these small hurdles that are both personal and metaphorical. It’s to their credit that they make it all land with a sense of personal stakes, this necessity that it says something richer about character.
I like to think that this film has gotten a fair share of love in recent years, especially thanks to its presence on streaming websites like Hulu. While I don’t necessarily believe it has gotten the boost of other female-lead supernatural tales like Raw (2015), A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014), or The Lure (2015), it has done plenty to stand out in a crowded field. It may seem like it’s rich with a gimmickry that makes for boring cinema, but by shifting any familiarity into this metaphysical character drama, it allows everything to feel far richer. It’s more than a coming of age story, a superhero narrative, or even the queer love story. It’s embodying things with such honesty and freedom within its symbolism that is profound at times. While I like to think that this is Trier’s most accessible film (at least subject-wise), I wonder if it will ever form a legacy as more than a cult favorite.
For now, it is evident from a cinematic standpoint how much harder we should be trying to make these stories into complex character studies. In an era of franchises, it’s difficult to take risks, find ways to make anyone the least bit unlikeable, or put their lives at significant risks. To have a film that feels certain danger even within a happy ending is refreshing, so free of any greater compromise. This is a story that’s more universal than any good vs. evil story. This is one of struggling to understand oneself in spite of a world that tries to lob an identity onto you. It has some spectacle, but it’s secondary. Thelma’s emotional growth is way more important.
At times I wish that Trier translated to American audiences with the clarity of a Yorgos Lanthimos. After all, both cater to stories of tragedy, finding cheekiness within the struggle. Maybe it’s because his take is ultimately drier, quieter. There isn’t the effort to appease audiences when even a story that could easily be sold as accessible is doing bold moves that don’t always make sense from a marketable standpoint. This is for those who are willing to slow down and listen, to lean in and wonder what is so special about Thelma. What happens is at points beautiful and even innovative. This is evidence of why I’m so eager to see where The Worst Person in the World and see if he still has a vibrant, meaningful voice. I have no reason to doubt that this is still true.
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