Oslo Trilogy: Love (Kjærlighet)

 

Writer/director Dag Johan Haugerud

OSLO TRILOGY: LOVE (Kjærlighet)         A-                                                                 Norway  (119 mi)  2024  d: Dag Johan Haugerud

At its core, the film is about how to do good.  I believe fiction plays a decisive role in imagining alternative worlds and perspectives.  It allows people to express themselves and act in ways that are often unusual.  For me, an important function of fiction is to inspire new ways of thinking in real life.     —Writer/director Dag Johan Haugerud

The chatty and stagy opening section of the Oslo Trilogy: Sex, which is largely shot indoors, is followed by a more lyrical expanse that becomes a more sensual, atmospheric expression of the city and its surrounding regions, even more free and tenderly fluid than the earlier part, telling two very individualistic stories about the ways of love, offering a range of responses to love and sex, exploring themes of sexuality, relationships, and intimacy, with a more emphatic expression of queerness that may be appealing to a broader audience, with an emphasis on getting people to talk about sexuality in a more open way, while also exploring the boundaries of love in relationships without always feeling pressured by norms and rules.  Officially celebrating the 100 year anniversary of the city of Oslo adapting its name, transitioning from the Danish Kristiania, or Christiania, named after King Christian IV, one of Denmark’s many rulers over Norway, this segment emphasizes the modern identity of the capital, which is over 1,000 years old, complete with a guided walking tour of some of the essential monuments, led by Heidi (Marte Engebrigtsen), a project manager for the city who works in the cultural department, where she’s busy planning events for the upcoming centenary celebration.  Her focus is on the old Oslo, symbolized by the town hall at the gates of the harbor, behind which the city center opens, analyzing various sculptures and frescoes through a queer and sexual lens, explaining the fluid sexualities of the sculptures suggest an unusual openness to the city, “Every aspect of it radiates humanity,” something like the Norwegian understanding of being human, demonstrating a welcoming and recognizable concern for people, inclusive of everybody, but she encounters pushback from colleagues, who prefer to invite popular author Karl Ove Knausgård.  Complicated and thoughtful, but never intrusive, written and directed by Haugerud, who has long been known in Norway as a novelist, where he manages to make his characters talk about their expectations and love experiences with remarkable lightness in this unusually conversation-driven comedy of manners, yet what really stands out is the beautiful use of the ferry operating between Oslo and Nesodden, an offshore peninsula in the Oslofjord where the warm tones by cinematographer Cecilie Semec are more pronounced, undoubtedly the most beautiful of the three segments, with views of Oslo from the water, where a wider expanse allows us to see the prevalence of water all around the city, with poetic, shifting patterns of light between day and night, including shots of the harbor in the darkness, eloquently capturing the nocturnal evening moods, as you can see the whole beauty of Oslo and the surrounding mountains during the many ferry trips, recalling the barge floating down the River Seine in Bresson’s Four Nights of a Dreamer (Quatre nuits d'un rêveur) (1971).  The ferry is a central location where characters meet as they come and go, acting as a neutral space, or a kind of stream-of-conscious, inner world for the characters, representing a middle ground between the different romantic destinations and lifestyles they are exploring, as so much is revealed in these short distance travels, articulating the complexity of relationships and the different ways of establishing a human connection, apparently inspired by the unmistakable cinema of Éric Rohmer’s TALES OF THE FOUR SEASONS, spread out over the decade of the 90’s, dedicated to the art of conversation and the rules of attraction.  Funded entirely by Norwegian money, the second to be filmed (but third chronologically), there’s an abundance of aerial shots, offering a more expansive view of the giant cranes, building scaffolding, and many construction projects of a city still in development, with quiet moments and intimate conversations leading to more contemplative ruminations.                         

At the outset we are introduced to Marianne, a urologist in her 40’s (Andrea Bræin Hovig, written with her in mind), and Tor, a caring hospital nurse who’s considerably younger (Tayo Cittadella Jacobsen), both working on the oncology ward, often faced with delivering the bad news about prostate cancer, including the difficulties explaining the treatment options available, with all the accompanying risks, like impotence, while Marianne conveys the inevitable, that “the organs of the lower abdomen have the peculiar ability to make us feel shame through their secretions – whether they work or not.”  So right from the outset, a predominate theme is facing our mortality, which it explores with a quiet tenderness, bringing into focus rather unconventional approaches to romance, with an exploration of desire and emotional fulfillment, offering an alternative to the nuclear family.  Mostly broken down into scenes with just two people talking, revealing their differing expectations and romantic experiences, avoiding any signs of melodramatic overreach, Marianne’s close friend Heidi sets her up with a divorced geologist named Ole (Thomas Gullestad), finding him handsome and charming enough, with a passionate love of rocks, and children, but she’s distinctively put-off by the idea of being in a complicated relationship with him, especially when he has two ex-wives, one living right next door, Solveig (Marian Saastad Ottesen), making it convenient to mutually raise their two children.  On the ferry back to Oslo after a date with Ole, Marianne bumps into Tor, who is renting a cabin for the summer in Nesodden, learning that he is gay, sharing his experience of spontaneous intimacy, as he doesn’t link sex to love, informing her that he usually cruises the ferry to find other men on apps to have sex with, like Grindr, once the exclusive domain of the gay community, but now dating apps like Tinder have opened up to everyone.  Having no real interest in static relationships, their interaction inspires Marianne to begin exploring the idea of having a more casual, laissez-faire approach to love and sexual relationships instead of playing the dating game, suggesting she needs to be more adventurous and sexually fluid in her encounters with men, wondering if Tor's living-in-the-moment philosophies could work in her own life, which leads to a random sexual encounter with a married carpenter (Morten Svartveit).  As in Oslo Trilogy: Sex, an interrogation of queerness expands the boundaries and opens up new doors of heterosexuality, at least partially inspired by Olivia Laing’s book The Lonely City, where a straight woman becomes intrigued by the gay cruising culture of New York City.  In a better world, we would be more honest with each other, more transparent, and make more emotionally informed decisions without fear of being judged or morally condemned, though we have yet to reach a point where women can make choices regarding their sexuality and love life without having to defend or explain themselves.  Tor ends up finding himself attracted to ferry passenger Bjørn (Lars Jacob Holm), a reserved gay psychologist who crosses paths with Tor again in the city, as he becomes a hospital patient recovering from prostate surgery.  Checking in on him at the hospital, Tor demonstrates the kindness of his profession, becoming a model of care and compassion, yet his attraction and personal touch blur together in defiance of professional principles, with Marianne reminding him of the patient’s vulnerability post-surgery, so he needs to be careful not to cross the line, while he, in turn, reminds her that you can’t actually assume people understand what you’re saying in the heightened confusion of receiving a cancer diagnosis.  One in eight men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime, yet what’s rarely spoken about is how the outcome disproportionately affects the sex lives of gay men, as Tor educates her on how the removal of the prostate is actually more detrimental to gays, as it’s such a major aspect of their sexual pleasure since it is directly stimulated during anal sex. 

With a constantly changing focus, and a camera that is always in motion, the Trilogy follows characters as attentively and unobtrusively through the changing and newly-built neighborhoods of Oslo, where each segment seems to focus on a different part of the city, with each visiting the city center.  The real celebration, however, is the human connection, with the ongoing interactions represented by the ferry constantly going back and forth.  Some of the most hauntingly beautiful scenes take place in Nesodden, which despite its close proximity to Oslo feels isolated and remote, like the association we have with Bergman’s Fårö Islands, with cabins having giant windows overlooking the water, which are especially mesmerizing at night, evoking a distinct tranquility and calmness that was simply missing in the first segment of the Oslo Trilogy: Sex.  While not shot in ‘Scope, like the first segment, what’s remarkable about the film is how it explores relationships from an unconventional perspective, where the “anything goes” philosophy is reminiscent of Paul Mazursky’s comedic relationship study BOB & CAROL & TED & ALICE (1969), which was advertised at the time as “Consider the Possibilities,” so it’s hardly new, yet seen through a queer lens, with Tor and Bjørn developing a tender bond the more they get to know each other, one that involves extreme intimacy, but no sex, a dynamic that’s often not in consideration within an often sex-obsessed gay culture.  Instead the film explores Bjørn’s traumatic and emotionally riddled past in a lengthy monologue sequence, “Sex is never just sex,” coming out during the 80’s when gays were being ravaged by an AIDS epidemic, feeling like he was being punished for being gay, part of a generation of gay men who have a more markedly cautious idea of casual sex, coming full circle as now his life is threatened once again by cancer.  Tor is literally a spiritual healer, a transitional bridge for Bjørn during a particularly difficult time recovering from surgery, knowing full well that his life will probably never be the same afterwards, but Tor is always extremely positive and life affirming, revealing how love can take on different shapes.  Marianne’s pursuit of more flexible boundaries from casual relationships without complications and obligations instead of the stress of fully formed committments leaves her traditionally-minded friend Heidi mortified, unable to recognize her friend anymore, which is hard to fathom, considering that early walk through Oslo’s city hall architecture, with a sexually diverse interpretation, was largely for Marianne’s benefit, finding clues that are largely missed through conventional viewing.  Fascinating and at times inspiring, what stands out is the assuredness of the characters, who are continually honest with themselves as they talk about relationships and how we can improve them, reflected in the director’s non-judgmental gaze, quietly subdued, yet hopefully evocative of a better understanding of ourselves, as opposed to the incendiary emotional fireworks of Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage (Scener ur ett äktenskap) (1973), with characters mercilessly raging over a decade’s worth of marital turmoil.  In what was likely envisioned as the concluding episode of the Trilogy, the film ends on an uplifting rooftop musical interlude with a deeply expressive song, Once Upon YouTube (2:02), by Peder Capjon Kjellsby sung by Norwegian jazz vocalist Solveig Slettahjell that morphs immediately into the more spontaneous jazz riff of Grunnstoff (Live) YouTube (2:02), offering a festive final note in its commemoration of Oslo.  Arguing for freedom and individuality in how people might pursue romance, as love can manifest in many different and unexpected ways, Haugerud is striving for a sexual and emotional closeness with others without necessarily conforming to the societal norms and conventions that currently define relationships, instead emphasizing ambiguity, becoming an example of how queer cinema has really evolved over the last decade, exploring how individuality can create different forms of interpersonal relationships, approaching the subject with tenderness, warmth, and sophistication.

Oslo Trilogy: Sex

 

Director Dag Johan Haugerud

OSLO TRILOGY: SEX                     B                                                                                 Norway  (118 mi)  2024  ‘Scope  d: Dag Johan Haugerud

If you, as a human being, have the capacity to recognize goodness and beauty, and be excited by it.  If you have the capacity to recognize injustice and act on it.  If you have the capacity to recognize evil and distance yourself from it.                                                                                     —Chimney Sweep CEO (Thorbjørn Harr) recalling the words of David Bowie in a dream sequence

Author and filmmaker Dag Johan Haugerud studied to become a librarian at Oslo University College, while obtaining a degree in film studies at Stockholm University, theater studies at the University of Oslo, and writer’s studies at Telemark University College, making an ambitious Oslo Trilogy with three stand-alone films connected by complementary themes and perspectives, including the location of Oslo and the heartfelt and mature storytelling technique that ruminates on modern day relationships, revolving around themes of desire, identity, and a longing for freedom.  There is an existing Oslo Trilogy in Joachim Trier’s Reprise (2006),  2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #10 Oslo, August 31, and 2021 #3 Film of the Year The Worst Person in the World (Verdens verste menneske), a melancholy, intricately observed portrait of a city in flux, documenting the changing face of a modernizing Oslo, with people questioning their role in life and what place self-expression might play in it.  Allegedly inspired by Krzysztof Kieslowski’s THREE COLORS TRILOGY, with its intersecting plot scenarios, offering different settings and characters, yet sharing certain themes, where  “liberty,” “equality,” and “fraternity” have been replaced by “Sex,” “Love,” and “Dreams,” which is the order they were released in Norway, with the title suggesting one thing, but no sex is ever shown, instead it is discussed extensively by two different heterosexual men in their marriages, one an atheist and the other a Christian, examining contemporary masculinity through waves of repercussions that play out in fragile and unexpected ways, as each of the three segments prominently features unnamed heterosexual characters being confronted by a sudden sense of queer desire, challenging our view of masculinity, and hopefully broadening our perspectives.  For instance, sexuality is more amorphous than how it tends to be represented, where a gay act is not necessarily equated with being gay, so they have to get through an undercurrent of exploratory emotional travails with very few moments of solitary reflection.  Outside of the city of Oslo itself, which has come to be viewed as a special place, a city of hope, like a welcoming sanctuary city known for its broad-minded openness, as Nordic countries in general are very secular, where they don't feel the suffocating pressure of religious morality, there are no recurring characters in the Oslo Trilogy with the exception of Bjørn (Lars Jacob Holm), a gay psychiatrist/psychologist who appears in all three films, a central character in LOVE, but otherwise only appears in brief cameo appearances.  A morality tale more reminiscent of Éric Rohmer’s SIX MORAL TALES (1963 – 1972), with Haugerud writing his thesis on the French filmmaker at university, this has a literary feel, intelligent and complex, exuding in the possibilities of new relationship models, where homoerotic longing is evident, yet language repeatedly gains the upper hand over cinematic aesthetics, expressed through nuanced character studies crisscrossed with long dialogue sequences, making this is a conversation-heavy film exploring the uncharted territories of male sexuality.  Shooting over the course of a year rather than just a few weeks, with echoes of Hong Sang-soo’s dialogue-heavy dramas, this may also recall Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy, Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), and Before Midnight (2013), where the first two are among the best romantic love stories of the modern era, yet this lacks Linklater’s romantic spontaneity in the moment, instead exploring the boundaries we establish in our lives around sex and gender, and whether they are expansive enough to encompass all of who we are and have the potential to be.

Opening with a panoramic view of the city, shot in ‘Scope by Cecilie Semec, giving the interior scenes an almost sterile look, with a jazz fusion, conventionally mainstream, flugelhorn-led score by Peder Capjon Kjellsby that sounds like Chuck Mangione from the 70’s, we see two chimney sweeps on rooftops cleaning out chimney stacks before retreating to an office with expansive city views of Oslo’s rooftops outside as CEO (Thorbjørn Harr) describes a recently recurring dream with David Bowie looking at him as if he were a woman, suddenly the object of a male gaze, which apparently hits a raw nerve, as this is something he’s never felt before, and he’s not sure what to make of it.  “It’s strange how dreams change when you start talking about them.”  His work partner (Jan Gunnar Røise) responds with a recent real-life incident with one of his male customers who asked to have sex with him.  Initially rebuffed, as he’s not gay, he left the premises, but stopped himself on the street and reconsidered, equally enamored by the way this man lustfully “looked” at him, like he’s being objectified, claiming “no one had ever looked at me like this,” so he stepped back inside and surrendered to a completely different sexual experience, one that opened his eyes and left him thrilled in a uniquely different way.  Both men are close and openly transparent with each other, speaking in an unusually relaxed manner, with private thoughts revealed in confidence, finding themselves shaken in ways they don’t truly understand, stirring confusion, while leading us to question how much our personalities are shaped by how others see us.  Structured very much like a play, this sets the stage for what follows, with the film getting into layered detail about the ramifications, delving into an interior landscape accentuating the power of emotions that resembles what we’ve seen before from Ingmar Bergman, particularly Scenes from a Marriage (Scener ur ett äktenskap) (1973), with both men seeking transparency and understanding with their wives.  The filmmaker, who is gay, acknowledges that everything he does is through a queer perspective, claiming one of his goals in the trilogy had been to describe what might happen if people of all sexualities adopted a gay perspective on intimacy, a radically subversive concept, one must say, offering a counterpoint to the rise of a social discourse centered on conflict and division.  While the partner was ecstatic about his secret interlude, when he shared what happened with his wife (Siri Forberg), she is less than enthused, bringing her close to tears, viewing it as a marital betrayal, wondering just how he might feel if she had engaged in a similar sexual encounter.  “Marriage is not there to curb our sexuality,” he responds, making a case for seemingly aberrant desires and impulses as an everyday fact of life, something that initially left him sexually elated, literally beaming with enthusiasm, yet he does not perceive it either as an expression of homosexual desire or an act of infidelity, quickly becoming a source of shame, however, as he wrongly thought he could compartmentalize the impact and matter only to him, but his wife immediately calls him on it, viewing it as cheating, a breach of trust, not some small matter, exposing how questions about sex and sexuality carry so much anxiety and moral weight.  We’ve seen this before in the queer cinema of Ira Sach’s 2023 Top Ten List #8 Passages, where Tomasz (Franz Rogowski) comes home to his gay husband (Ben Whishaw) one day and declares he just had sex with a woman for the first time and enjoyed it, expecting his husband to share in the joy, but his partner is more than a little perturbed. 

Regularly occurring pictures of Oslo appear as construction sites and giant building cranes can be seen, revealing an orderly city with minimalist architecture that is never finished, mirroring our relationships which are never complete, continually evolving over time.  Chimney sweepers are a predominately male-dominated profession, offering the filmmaker an opportunity to shoot rooftop vistas that encompass city and sky landscapes, where the largesse of the expansive view is countered by small, intimate moments in enclosed spaces between marital partners, who tend to squabble about their everyday lives, caught up in conventional lives, yet espousing unusually liberal-minded thoughts about an expanding role of freedom in their relationship, which seems to be more of a pipe dream than an existing reality, as they are mostly guided by conventional societal practices.  These marital conversations are the heart of the film, as the seemingly defensive work partner insists that sex isn’t love, and that he’s completely committed to his marriage, contending “Having one beer doesn’t make you an alcoholic.”  This key scene goes on for some length, where she is initially seen only from the back, a tribute to Jean-Luc Godard’s My Life to Live (Vivre Sa Vie: Film en douze tableaux) (1962) when actress Anna Karina is similarly seen only from the back in her first scene.  The CEO and his wife (Birgitte Larsen) are guided by principles of the Christian church they attend, where he sings in the choir, but seems to be experiencing muscle spasms in the back of his tongue, so his music instructor Nasrin Khusrawi offers him ways to help relax the muscle.  While we don’t learn any of their names, creating an anonymous yet universal aspect to what we are seeing, this never becomes a wish fulfillment of gay fantasies, and though there’s nothing earthshaking about any of this, with no startling revelations, it’s discussed in a relaxed and candid atmosphere, with differing viewpoints diverging from what was expected.  The men are dumbfounded by their wives’ reactions, causing them to rethink what they’re feeling, offering surprisingly frank discussions, which go even deeper when total strangers enter the picture, like a visit to a shockingly outspoken doctor (Anne Marie Ottersen), where she apparently has an infinite amount of time, revealing extremely personal anecdotes that become a black and white flashback sequence of a story-within-a-story, where the initial idea keeps expanding into new realms, yet viewed within the confines of a typical middle class family defined by comfort and stability.  Challenging us to reconsider our understanding of sexuality, gender, and identity, this is perhaps a European expression about the way things could and should be, but isn’t, as society is instead overwhelmed by a condemnational aspect to anything straying from the norm, where in the age of the internet expansion, social media crushes mental health outlooks with regularity, creating heightened anxiety, depression, loneliness, increased levels of psychological distress, and lower life satisfaction.  The film pretends to give an open view of modern relationships, but feels extremely conservative with little innovation due to the reluctance of many characters, yet it offers no moral judgments, no easy resolutions, remaining open to interpretation.  Subtle and unconventional, this feels more like a free form essay on expanding the role of what constitutes gender, suggesting it may be pigeonholed into a corner where it is literally unable to breathe.  Because the characters continue to ask curious questions without judging, more and more is told about the characters themselves, displaying unusual degrees of tolerance and emotional intelligence.