FJORD (2026, Mungiu) [NYFF Review]

I've been hearing about Christian Mungiu since I plugged myself into the arthouse world in the early 2010s, but I never gave myself the time to catch up with his work. A Romanian director, he primarily sets his films there; Fjord, however, follows a Romanian-Norwegian family persecuted for their conservatism when they move to a small and progressive waterside town in Norway. It's a reactionary picture, critiquing liberalism while operating in the typically liberal humanist mode: handheld shooting, long takes, and archly distant wides meant to capture both the broad movements of social systems and a general sense of portent (avalanches pour down mountains in the distance, carefully telegraphing a rupture in the superficially quaint comfort of liberal values). It's a worthwhile prank, and it reminded me somewhat of Todd Phillips's Joker: Folie a Deux--make the dogs of film intelligentsia smell our own shit for a couple of hours and see how much we like the smell.

Evidently, quite a bit: Fjord won the Palme d'Or at Cannes this year. As such, I went in to the screening with my iconoclastic shield raised--I expected to hate the film. And there is indeed a lot in it that doesn't work. Renate Reinsve is unconvincing as a mother clearly written to play as matronly, and while Sebastian Stan disappears into the role, that isn't enough to render his performance a great one. The contrasts the film offers are likewise too pat: you either support the Romanian right to practice a more tight-fisted and traditional way of life or the reckless decadence of Western European liberalism. There’s a winking quality that we in the audience are expected to agree it’s ridiculous to assert that these children are deprived of rich lives because they aren’t allowed to play video games or watch YouTube. And while yes, I personally agree it's no great loss that they don't get to see Mr. Beast dangle hundreds of thousands of dollars over the heads of a group of poor saps, the movie needs to go out of its way to demonstrate the richness of the children's experience in order for that argument to play dramatically. But Mungiu leaves it off-camera in favor of drama amongst the grown ups.

That said, it's a fairly engaging drama. There’s a natural indignation that arises from seeing this family get absolutely railroaded, a feeling Mungiu plays on (preys on?) as he creates this really compelling scenario, but he also doesn't take it far enough. As with many European Ambiguities, the film gets most interesting in its final moments and suggests it probably should've gone on for at least another hour.

Too bad Foucault didn't live to see this; he would've had a field day.