by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer
If ever there were a film which set off a paradigm shift in my internal core, it would be The Worst Person in the World. Layered with melancholic profundity, and wrapped in a beautifully constructed package of immense care and craftsmanship, it forced me to contend with certain aspects about my life that I either did not want to confront, or could not vocalize on my own. There are few contemporary films where I’m able to feel parts of myself in its characters the way that I did with Julie and Aksel. To this day, it’s one of the most emotionally charged theater watches I’ve ever had. Though I was unfamiliar with the work of Norwegian filmmaker Joachim Trier prior to this film, I knew as the end credits began rolling that whatever he did next, I would see the first chance I got. Enter, Sentimental Value.
Word of mouth for Trier’s highly anticipated followup coming out of Cannes was ubiquitously glowing. This was all I needed to know Trier had struck magic for a second time, something I confirmed after seeing it. In the months prior to seeing the picture, I made sure to watch the rest of Joachim Trier’s narrative filmography. This comprises four films which collectively broke new ground for what I could even come to expect from the director. By extension, this includes Eskil Vogt, Trier’s longtime collaborator, and co-writer on all of his films. From their first feature through to The Worst Person in the World, Vogt and Trier have worked exclusively in telling emotionally fertile stories that deal with the complexity and sensitivity of human relationships. Sentimental Value is no different, for it is the most universal and personally resonant work from Trier so far.
This sentiment comes through in the film’s palpable depiction of history. Trier has openly discussed in interviews that a point of inspiration for this story stemmed from experiences had by his grandfather, Erik Løchen. Himself a filmmaker and jazz musician beginning in the 1940s, through to his passing in 1983, Løchen is spiritually embedded in one of the film’s central ideas, but is not represented in an overtly literal fashion. His presence in Sentimental Value is kept below the surface. So much so that I would never pin Trier’s own family as a reference point had he not acknowledged such. Trier and Vogt harken back to Løchen’s own tribulations, exploring the value of art progressing linearly through time, connecting past and present. In the case of Trier, he is an extension of Løchen through his work. This includes other members of Trier’s family, namely his father Jacob and brother Emil, as sound engineer and documentarian respectively. Sentimental Value uses the corollary of a person’s life rippling through generations to see what comes out of real trauma through art. More specifically, the picture reframes what it means to use cinema as a language.
Renate Reinsve returns to lead another Trier picture, this time donning the persona of television and stage actress Nora Borg. Reinsve makes a big leap away from the directionless Julie of Worst Person, and instead embodies a more resolute and internally hardened personality. Opposite Reinsve is Stellan Skarsgård as Gustav Borg, her estranged father and acclaimed film director. After the death of his ex-wife Sissel (Ida Marianne Vassbotn Klasson), Gustav offers Nora the lead in an upcoming film he’s written for her. When Nora declines, Gustav moves ahead with the picture, instead casting famous American actress Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning). Rounding out the main cast is Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas in the role of Agnes Borg Pettersen, Nora’s sister and former actor who previously played the lead in a different Gustav picture when she was a child. It’s in these perspectives that Trier regales the audience with a heartwrenching yet cathartic tale in what feels like the culmination of his career.
In one sense, this is very much a movie about making movies. It’s about funneling one’s interpersonal thoughts and lived experiences into an artistic medium when there is simply no other choice. This is especially pertinent with Gustav, a character I empathize with dearly. Nowhere in the film’s reception have I seen any allusions to the following school of thought, but watching Gustav after a while led me to reflect on a 2023 Deadline interview with Martin Scorsese. The piece ends with Scorsese imparting an outlook he’s arrived at regarding his own mortality in relation to his work. In abbreviated terms, there are still stories he wants to tell, but the reality is he’s run out of time. Him sharing this realization saddened me, because Scorsese’s works means a great deal to me. However, there is also a beautiful fragility in obtaining a sense of clarity that can only come with age. This is precisely where Gustav finds himself at the start of the picture, the only difference being he has only one story left that he needs to tell.
If only for a few moments, we see Gustav at varying points throughout his life. These glimpses help paint a vivid picture of a life that has seen its fair share of tragedy, but was also filled with such vitality. That is not the man we see today. The Gustav of today is feeling the constraints of the hourglass looming over him. Sissel’s passing, and conversations with his ailing collaborators serve as reminders of this inevitability. In the words of Joseph Sugarman, “Time’s arrow neither stands still nor reverses, it merely marches forward.” Now in his 70s, Gustav has had years to reflect on the most impactful moments of his life, which include his many regrets. This is the perspective which brings forth that needed clarity. Next to being a father, what defines Gustav most is his devotion to life as a filmmaker. Writing affords Gustav the right to be the author of his own story. To siphon the emotions out from within the subconscious, manifest them into the written word, and onto film, because it’s the language he knows best how to communicate.
Returning to Scorsese, Gustav’s production feels creatively reminiscent of Gangs of New York. I specifically mean the primordial scream some filmmakers just have when it comes to a certain project of theirs. The recent Apple TV documentary Mr.Scorsese features an interview with Scorsese saying, even if aspects of Gangs of New York aren’t as he envisioned them, it’s a film that needed to see the light of day at some point in his career. Gustav is in that same camp. Seeing the film through by casting Rachel Kemp after Nora refuses affirms that this is something that he has to force out into the world, however he can. Gustav’s also no stranger to this concept, as he’s done it before. In the one example we are shown of his previous work, we can visibly see the effect that is had on Gustav when reflecting on the picture he made with his daughter Agnes. The viewer can feel by just the expression on Skarsgard’s face what this means to Gustav. Even when the audience is given only a vague idea for what that movie is about, its impact in no certain terms is immeasurable. And the thing about art when it comes from such personhood is that it has the potential to imbue these feelings into anyone. Rachel Kemp is but one such example.
The full breadth of Kemp’s status as a star in Hollywood is put well on display. Once she enters the picture, virtually every scene she is in revolves around her, and rightfully so. With her name and face plastered seemingly on every corner of Oslo, her presence looms large over Nora in particular, only not in an antagonistic sense. She occupies an endearing role in this story, as her infectious personality and persistent work ethic feel almost trojan horse-esque in upending my own expectations for what ultimately motivates her. Helping bring Gustav’s vision to life is certainly part of it, but it goes beyond that. For her, it’s about forming a true connection to the material, a facet of performance that cannot be easily attained and proves difficult when mustering the courage to voice her shortcomings. The familial center which the movie revolves around leaves Kemp on the out of those emotional tethers, but in Gustav she finds an emotional sounding board to which she can connect, and decidedly understand what it is she wants out of being an actress. Intuition ultimately wins out.
When it comes to Nora and Agnes, acting is a form of expression which has offered them something truly invaluable at different parts of their lives. Nora verbalizes at one point what attracts her to performance. How there is real beauty in building a character and forming emotional attachments across a physical space that resonate with an audience. Agnes does no such thing, but her experience lives in what she would have felt as her younger self when she was in Gustav’s thrall. Agnes is at first the only one of the movie’s three leading actresses to act in one of Gustav’s films. This practice is not something that she has carried with her into adulthood, but notably she remains a collaborator to her father in being a researcher for his films. There is a bond there that allows father and daughter to connect at some level of normalcy. Nora has no such relationship with Gustav. While Agnes and Nora are not distant in age, and share the same upbringing, how they view Gustav today leaves room for each of them to react differently when confronted with his latest script. The accelerant that adds fuel to that fire is the immense weight of the home in which they were raised.
Of the many emotional cruxes present in this movie, the home that features prominently carries the loftiest one. Varnished in a red-and-black exterior with mudded white interiors, the structure is as visibly imposing as it is eye-catchingly staged. Not since The Last Black Man in San Francisco have I felt such gravity to what four walls and a roof could stand to mean for someone. Vogt and Tier again employ narration to offer an omniscient perspective. Bente Børsum, who was the lead in Løchen’s film The Chasers, offers her voice to narrate the history of the Borg household. Though perspectives from other occupants are shared intermittently, most significant are those of our main three. For Nora and Agnes, their most indelible memories are tied to the separation of their parents as they were coming of age. For Gustav, this space bears an equally indelible influence when crafting his film’s screenplay. All three share a concrete understanding of what happened in their home, but there is an emotional disconnect too firmly rooted in their varying outlooks that prevents them from being able to make amends from the start. When looking at the film’s ending, the home is half the battle in arriving where we do. Said ending is decidedly less ambiguous than that of The Worst Person in the World, a wise decision which signals this viewing experience more about purifying oneself of personal demons than any traditional sense of reconciliation or atonement.
Sentimental Value is Trier’s grandest movie. Gone is the countercultural edge which bled through The Worst Person in the World. In its place is a much softer energy, with hushed performances to match. Skarsgård’s wisened and soulful performance exquisitely captures the scale of his emotional investment, resulting in some of the film’s most fraught and powerful moments. Fanning plays all of her scenes with such grace and precision, a stunning performance which gives the movie so much life. Lilleaas and Reinsve have the most sincerely accurate portrayal of sisterly dynamics I’ve maybe ever seen in a movie. Lilleaas announces herself with a skillful intimacy so subtle, it would be an outright tragedy if her career didn’t skyrocket into grandiose heights. And Reinsve is every bit as transcendent as the critical reception to this film has made her out to be.
I once heard some say you can’t make a good movie out of a bad script. I would take it a step further and say if Joachim Trier and Eskil Vogt are writing a script, it could never stand a chance at being bad. Unquestionably one of the best films of the decade.
Rating: High Side of Loved It
Sentimental Value is currently playing in theaters
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