THE STORY – The Gheorghiu family, with a Romanian father and a Norwegian mother, have moved to the mother’s birthplace, a remote Norwegian village, and befriend the neighboring Halberg family. When the Gheorghius are suspected of disturbing behavior regarding their children, their lives are thrown into chaos as they become the center of scrutiny.
THE CAST – Sebastian Stan, Renate Reinsve, Lisa Carlehed, Ellen Dorrit Petersen, Lisa Loven Kongsli & Henrikke Lund-Olsen
THE TEAM – Cristian Mungiu (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 146 Minutes
Romanian filmmaker Cristian Mungiu has long been fascinated by the quiet decay within society, the unseen cracks that slowly widen until people find themselves forced into impossible positions. Whether it was abortion in his Palme d’Or-winning “4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days” or the xenophobia and tribalism explored in “R.M.N.,” Mungiu has consistently gravitated toward stories that refuse to provide audiences with simple answers. His films operate in the gray areas of morality, where people believe they are doing the right thing while systems, cultures, and personal values bump up against them. His latest film, “Fjord,” continues that exploration and may very well be one of his most intelligent, uncompromising, and troubling (complimentary) works to date, one that gets to the heart of many contemporary ills plaguing humanity today all over the world. An ice-cold drama, “Fjord” transpires like a recurring slow-moving avalanche. One that the locals in the small Norwegian town where the story takes place can see and hear from a distance, but accept its arrival and whatever fate it may bring.
The film opens with the sound of “Amazing Grace” delicately played on piano, a melody many would consider melancholy, but one that Mihai Gheorghiu (Sebastian Stan) finds “delightful.” Mungiu clearly establishes both the film’s atmosphere and worldview in that brief exchange between Mihai and one of his colleagues at the local Norwegian school, where he’s just started working after arriving from Romania with his wife, Lisbet (Renate Reinsve), and their four fully grown children and one newborn infant. Snowy mountains surround the overcast town, and the waters are freezing, but its small but loving population offers the family a warm welcome. This is a tight community where everyone knows everybody, and secrets don’t last long. The first image of the Gheorghiu family in their new home is one of perceived sweetness, with a familial embrace as the children head off to school, accompanied by a light warning from their father about a disciplinary matter; what the matter was, we’re not entirely sure. And Mungiu is going to ensure that we’re never sure throughout the rest of his 146-minute narrative. There is clearly an established penal structure within the Gheorghiu household, one built around faith, tradition, and authority, and Mungiu masterfully navigates these highly complex themes, doing what he does best at the highest level of intellect, filmmaking craft, and emotional awareness.
Mihai is a Romanian immigrant, and he and his Norwegian wife have decided to return to her birthplace to raise their family. We’re never told why they made the move, but that’s where the story begins. The rest of the town openly welcomes them. Mats Halberg, the local school principal, even jokes with the children, “There’s no Dracula here,” a lighthearted attempt to ease them into their new surroundings while also gently acknowledging their cultural differences. Everyone seems eager to help the newcomers settle in. Mihai and Lisbet appear to be kind, loving, and supportive people, not just to others within the community, but especially towards their children. They become close with neighboring families, especially Mats and his wife Mia Halberg (Lisa Carlehed), who live only a few feet away from the Gheorghius. But behind closed doors in a private family home and inside those walls, things may not be entirely as they appear on the outside. “Fjord” makes us question how well you can ever truly know someone and what is really going on, despite their best intentions, when all the evidence suggests they are a good-hearted person.
Mihai can understand Norwegian, but he doesn’t speak it. This langauge barrier is not just an excuse to cast Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve in their respective roles, but also plays a crucial role in establishing the culutural differences in how Romanians view disciplining their children, especially from a conservative perspective as Mihai and Lisbet are very religious in the conservative Christian faith (mainly Romanian Orthodoxy), not allowing the kids to have phones, go on the internet, watch YouTube, or listen to modern music, but this also extends over to how they would feel if they were to betray any other “traditional” family values. This is instilled in them by their parents at a young age as morally wrong. Mahai and Lisbet thus require disciplinary lessons so their children can better understand that punishments must be given and carried out if they are to raise their children in the way they deem right. But once allegations of abuse within the home surface, Mungiu begins asking the very difficult questions we expect him to: when do cultural and/or religious differences become cause for concern, and who ultimately decides where discipline ends, and abuse begins?
That distinction becomes increasingly tough to navigate once the Gheorghius’ oldest daughter, Elia (Vanessa Ceban), arrives at school with visible bruises on her body. Could it be from her wrestling in gym class? A fall down the stairs? Soon afterward, one of her siblings is overheard suggesting their parents caused the injuries. Rapidly, the Gheorghiu family is placed under investigation by Child Services and the local police, prompting both a civil and a criminal case against them. And this is where the story becomes more thought-provoking. Are the Gheorghius loving parents simply misunderstood by a system interpreting their version of abuse for the state’s version? Or are they hiding something darker behind their kindness and faith? This is where “Fjord” reveals itself as quintessential Mungiu. Like much of his work, there are no heroes or villains here; there is no black and white. In “Fjord,” there are people, and there are laws, and laws are created by people, unless you believe certain laws came from God and need to be carried out, no matter what the rest of society tells you.
Each investigation carries with it its own challenges and layers of legal intricacy, as Mihai and Lisbet genuinely feel they have done nothing wrong in the parenting of their children. But when Mia, who decides to help defend the Gheorghiu family in the civil court case due to Lisbet, who is a nurse, helping care for her immobile father following his stroke, begins to suspect that the decision may not rule in the family’s favor, despite the children also wanting to be reunited with their parents, Mihai decides to take matters into his own hands. What follows is a religious media firestorm and pressure from conservatives in the surrounding area protesting that their values not be put on trial. “Fjord” is navigating some very tricky cultural and generational viewpoints, as parenting methods have continued to evolve in some parts of the world while remaining unchanged in others. And when viewed through the prism of religion, it becomes even more fragile.
Mungiu remarkably balances the conservative perspective without turning the Gheorghius into monsters, while Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve deliver two subtle performances that constantly make you question where your sympathies should lie at every turn. Are they good people? Is this all just one giant misunderstanding? What is considered fair punishment in the eyes of parents towards their children and in the eyes of the law? When is such a judgment warranted? And how else are parents from a different generation expected to handle disciplining their children when adolescent defiance is at an all-time high and fueled by social media and shifting societal expectations?
Stan delivers some of his most reserved and best work yet, as a man who is clearly bottling up an extraordinary amount of anger because of the situation he finds himself in. And why wouldn’t he? What parent would not feel justified in their anger at the thought of not only having their children taken away but also the threat of prison hanging over both themselves and their spouse? Mihai has to be careful not to let those emotional outbursts come to light in the presence of anyone involved in the investigation, because they can and will be used against him and Lisbet. How Stan communicates this through the smallest gestures and shifts in body posture, without relying on broad acting choices, is an impressive display of restraint that deepens the film’s ambiguity. This also marks Stan’s first role performed in his native Romanian and feels like a major career milestone following his first Oscar nomination for “The Apprentice.” As he enters a new chapter of his own life and career, becoming a father himself, there is an added layer of emotional resonance watching him wrestle with what it means to be both a father and a man.
Reinsve, meanwhile, has the equally demanding task of holding Lisbet back from emotionally overreacting in ways that could put her in danger of never seeing her children again. To be in awe of what a truly great actor Renate is, at the height of her abilities, is to watch the scene in which Child Services confronts Lisbet in her home with not just news of the accusations but an official determination to remove her five children from the care of her and her husband, while explaining exactly why they have reached that decision and what she can expect next. All the while, a Norwegian flag waves not-so-subtly outside the window of the Gheorghiu home. In typical Mungiu fashion, the scene is shot in a single, uninterrupted long take, allowing us to feel Lisbet’s confusion, pain, anger, and desperation while still questioning whether a mistake is happening right before our eyes or if it is justice being carried out by a system built to protect the innocent. Like Stan, Reinsve never telegraphs whether Lisbet deserves our sympathy or suspicion. If the investigators themselves don’t know, why should we?
Life is more convoluted than that, and Mungiu should be applauded for refusing to give in to audience requests for clarification or making a more conventional version of this story despite having two internationally recognizable Oscar-nominated stars leading his latest film. “Fjord” is every bit as daring as his previous work: meticulously scripted, intelligently constructed, and never once interested in casting judgment on its characters. There is also the subplot involving Mats and Mia’s daughter Noora (Henrikke Lund-Olsen), who develops a close bond with Elia. Though she is at an age where acting out is fairly normal, her feelings for Elia may run deeper and carry further implications for Elia and the rest of the Gheorghiu family, depending on what they take away from this experience. Perhaps nothing will be learned, and the cycle simply continues. Or perhaps there remains the slightest glimmer of hope that coming so close to losing everything that matters to them in turn changes everything for the better. Mungiu trusts the audience to arrive at their own conclusions as he casts the film out into dark, uncertain waters, with us unsure where exactly it is headed next, yet continuing forward all the same, much like people and society themselves, regardless of whether we are ready for it or not.
