THE STORY – Anker is released from prison after a fifteen year sentence for robbery. The money from the heist was buried his brother, Manfred. Only he knows where it is. Unfortunately, Manfred has since developed a mental disorder, causing him to forget everything. Together, the brothers embark on an unexpected journey to locate the money — and discover who they really are.
THE CAST – Nikolaj Lie Kaas, Mads Mikkelsen, Sofie Gråbøl, Søren Malling, Bodil Jørgensen, Lars Brygmann, Kardo Razzazi, Nicolas Bro & Peter Düring
THE TEAM – Anders Thomas Jensen (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 116 Minutes
Anders Thomas Jensen has never been afraid of chaos. With “The Last Viking,” unveiled out of competition at the Venice Film Festival, the Danish filmmaker doubles down on his reputation as the master of the grotesque fable. The result is a film that’s at once riotously funny, shockingly violent, and unexpectedly moving, often all within the space of a single scene. To put it simply, this is the kind of film that makes you laugh until you wince, and then wince until you laugh again.
From its opening animated prologue – a childlike retelling of a Viking legend about sacrifice and brotherhood – it’s clear that this is no ordinary crime caper. Jensen sets the stage for what can best be described as Nordic absurdism: a cinema of extremes, where myth collides with pop culture, where trauma hides inside jokes, and where the line between hilarity and horror all but disappears. The set-up is deceptively simple: hardened ex-con Anker (Nikolaj Lie Kaas) steps out of prison after 15 long years, eager to reclaim the millions he left buried in his youth. But only his brother knows the hiding place. Unfortunately, that brother – Manfred, played by Mads Mikkelsen with a catastrophic perm and wire-rimmed glasses – is no longer Manfred. He now insists on being called “John” because he is convinced he’s John Lennon. His memories are tangled in Beatles lyrics, Viking runes, and layers of unresolved trauma. The treasure hunt becomes less about money and more about memory, identity, and the absurd ways we cope with pain.
What follows is part heist movie, part family melodrama, and part surreal comedy. The brothers return to their childhood home, only to discover it’s been transformed into an Airbnb run by a magnificently dysfunctional couple (Sofie Gråbøl and Søren Malling). Production designer Nikolaj Danielsen turns the creaky wooden mansion into a gothic playground filled with secrets, resentments, and rooms that seem to groan with the weight of history. As the film unfolds, this house becomes a stage where an entire cavalcade of oddballs collides.
Among them are John’s newfound “bandmates” from the psychiatric ward, who all believe themselves to be Beatles. A self-proclaimed Ringo Starr joins forces with another patient who rotates between Paul, George, and – in a gloriously deranged Scandinavian twist – ABBA’s Björn Borg. Together, they form a cover band so earnest and misguided that you laugh until you realize you’re watching broken people cling to fantasy as their only form of survival. But Jensen never lets the absurdity float free of consequence. Enter “Friendly” Flemming (Nicolas Bro), a former associate of Anker’s who arrives to claim the loot for himself. Flemming is anything but friendly. His violent determination adds jolts of brutality that crash into the comedy without warning. In one moment you’re grinning at a ridiculous gag, in the next your stomach drops. That whiplash is the essence of Jensen’s cinema.
Some might call this unruly, others will call it exhilarating. “The Last Viking” is less a symphony than a jam session: messy, improvised, occasionally off-key, but alive with a reckless energy that more polished films can only dream of. Where Martin McDonagh orchestrates his comedies of cruelty with clockwork precision, Jensen dives headfirst into chaos, trusting his performers to hold the line. And hold it they do. Kaas anchors the story with weary pragmatism, playing Anker as a man torn between hardened criminal instincts and a deep, if battered, loyalty to his brother. But it’s Mikkelsen who astonishes. Known internationally for his intensity, here he offers a performance that’s both utterly committed and playfully absurd. With his perm, glasses, and Lennon affectations, he could so easily tip into caricature. Instead, Mikkelsen gives us a portrait of fragility disguised as delusion – a grown man so wounded he can only survive by pretending to be someone else and while doing that he delivers one of the most surprising roles of his career.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Gråbøl and Malling turn their Airbnb hosts into grotesque yet weirdly believable creations: she, a vain ex-hand model now obsessed with boxing, and he, a failed designer endlessly procrastinating on a children’s book. Nicolas Bro’s Flemming radiates menace, reminding us that no matter how surreal things get, violence is never far behind. Cinematographer Sebastian Blenkov captures the Nordic woods with a painterly eye, making them feel both lush and forbidding. Much of the film unfolds in darkness, yet Blenkov ensures every image pulses with texture and clarity. Eddie Simonsen’s sound design amplifies both the comedy and the cruelty. Every punch lands, every pratfall thuds, every scream echoes. The result is a sensory experience that keeps the audience off-balance in the best possible way.
Not everything will sit comfortably with viewers, such as the portrayal of John’s condition. It’s a blend of autism, dissociation, and obsessive delusion undeniably played for laughs, especially early on. Some will find this exploitative. Yet Jensen gradually shifts the tone, showing that laughter and empathy can spring from the same source: our shared human fragility. It’s a risky tightrope walk, and whether it succeeds is open to debate, but few films this year will push audiences to confront the uneasy border between comedy and cruelty with such boldness. Placed in the broader context of Scandinavian cinema, “The Last Viking” feels both familiar and radical. Denmark has long excelled at black comedies where the grotesque and the banal co-exist, from Jensen’s own “Adam’s Apples” to Ruben Östlund’s “Triangle of Sadness.” But Jensen cranks the dial to maximum. Where Östlund dissects social awkwardness with surgical precision, Jensen embraces the chaos of excess. Where “Adam’s Apples,” for example, offered a parable of faith, “The Last Viking” refuses to tidy itself into a moral.
And then there’s awards season. In terms of sheer artistry, “The Last Viking” should unquestionably be Denmark’s submission for the International Feature Oscar and would be in the final five in almost any other year. Bold, original, and unmistakably Danish in its humor and sensibility, the film showcases Mads Mikkelsen brilliantly, following two previous Thomas Vinterberg projects where he shone (“Another Round” and “The Hunt”). It now seems only a matter of time before the Academy recognizes him with a nomination. That said, 2025 is an exceptionally strong year for international cinema, making the category fiercely competitive. And while “The Last Viking” mesmerizes with its unruly brilliance, its anarchic, comedic nature may prove a challenge for voters who often lean toward more solemn fare.
Ultimately, the film’s greatest strength may also be its greatest liability: its refusal to play safe. It sprawls, it overindulges, and it risks bad taste. Yet in doing so, it feels alive in a way few films do. This is a comedy that stares unflinchingly at trauma, a melodrama unafraid of laughter, a fable that refuses easy morals. In a cinema landscape too often smoothed over and risk-averse, “The Last Viking” is a reminder that sometimes, the messiest stories are the ones that linger.
