There’s a reason the old stories never die.
A boy, heir to the throne, is called to heroism in lieu of the death of his father at the hands of a traitorous uncle. Cast out of the kingdom he was once to rule, his mother made to wed the murderous villain, he must become a man before returning and righting the wrong done to his family honour. He must avenge his father, he must save his mother, and he must kill his uncle.
It is a story we’re all familiar with, likely in its’ most ubiquitous form: William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, arguably the most famous play in the western canon (others will probably identify the story most with The Lion King -to each their own). But Shakespeare, for all his brilliance, was of course not the originator. His source was Saxo Grammaticus’ record of the tale of Amleth, a Scandinavian legend that itself is likely not the first telling of this classic story of revenge and family honour. It is simply too primal, too universal, too raw -a story that has always existed and will always remain powerful.
But it’s this largely overlooked iteration, perhaps the most important given its’ direct descendant, that Robert Eggers chose to showcase in The Northman, his most expensive and ambitious movie yet: a viking epic of bloodshed, vengeance, and raw masculine rage. Through his particular interest in old systems of power and superstitions, and his unique skill for faithful period linguistics, the filmmaker behind The Witch and The Lighthouse, crafts here one of the most fascinating, subversive, and authentic sword and sorcery films that has been seen in more than a decade.
We first meet Prince Amleth as a wide-eyed excitable child in some kingdom of ninth century Denmark. His innocence goes away though when his father Aurvandill (Ethan Hawke), returned from some great victory in war, inducts him into manhood through a tense and visceral ritual that involves hound-like howling, blood bonding, and an oath of vengeance towards any harm that would befall the father. Shortly thereafter he is indeed slain by his younger brother Fjölnir (Claes Bang), and in the midst of the revolt and carnage, Amleth alone flees -thrust so quickly into a determined mantra of violence and hate.
Eggers is extremely fascinated by that mentality, and by a culture that emphasizes such harsh values. He maintains a certain objectivity towards it though, in many regards he simply wants to recreate the viking world with an accuracy often overlooked in adaptation (you’re not going to find any horned helmets here). But there is something curious in how he portrays this obsession in Amleth, as an adult played by Alexander Skarsgård. He hones in critically on his singular focus, that desire for vengeance that is so omnipresent that it dwarfs the root catalyst. It simply must be carried out because Amleth has been bred to believe it should, even if he never truly knew his father well, and has little desire for kingship himself. As situations change and the circumstances around the original crime are revealed in greater complexity, Amleth is further challenged. It’s of course the very thing his more famous successor would grapple with, but Amleth has no soliloquies, no impetus to reconsider. He is bent on his mission, and the force of cosmic responsibility and brute justice outweighs any desire for escape. By the time he’s there, face to face with Fjölnir ready to duke it out one last time, the death of Aurvandill has no bearing -it’s been so long and so much has shifted. His rival already reduced to running a simple farm village in Iceland, there’s no glory in any conquest over Fjölnir; the feud is no longer about anything -and Amleth can no longer hold any true sense of righteousness.
A salvation figure exists for him in the form of Anya Taylor-Joy’s Olga, a slave with mystic powers who becomes both his vengeful partner and lover. With implicit ties to an ancient and more natural world order, she questions his motives and mission, draws out of him a hidden tenderness, and even at one point briefly succeeds in pulling him out of the violent cycle. But unquenchable bloodlust, the power of conditioned rage proves his ultimate tragedy.
Tapped into this clearly, Eggers allows the film to have this provoking conversation without either glorifying or excoriating this society in focus. It exists on its’ own terms, Old Norse culture simply working as a compelling backdrop to explore deep themes of masculinity. We see copiously barbarous violence, inelegant ruggedness, rowdy primitivism. And just as the directionless fury driven by patriarchal rite is inane, resulting only in more chaos and misery, it is objectively pretty silly this display of a primeval maleness -Eggers is sure to exploit that, his camera lingering on the animalistic cries, the blunt carnage, all the while asking why this should be the base image of man.
Alexander Skarsgård is great -an actor who I’ve never much had strong feelings for, certainly not as a leading man, delivers an extreme dedicated performance. A producer on the film, he’s been wanting to make a viking project for some time, and goes all in on this opportunity, playing well both the brutal warrior (Amleth is a battle-hardened berserker) and the sad, brooding human beneath the toned killing machine. He’s surrounded by even heavier hitters though -Anya Taylor-Joy proving once again how formidable an actress she is as perhaps the films’ most enthralling character, barely upstaging Nicole Kidman as Queen Gudrún, with far more power than Hamlet’s Gertrude ever had, and dominating with that power the most critical scene of the movie. Ethan Hawke and Willem Dafoe are of course great in their small roles, as is an enchanting Björk as an enigmatic Seeress -her first film appearance in over twenty years. The discovery for me though was Claes Bang, who successfully brings dimension and nuance to Fjölnir, a figure to whom a certain sympathy is cultivated even as he too submits to doomed patriarchal law. It’s also cute how in addition to Taylor-Joy, Eggers cast in small roles both her parents from The Witch, Kate Dickie and Ralph Ineson -now in their fourth film together.
Eggers and cinematographer Jarin Blaschke create a rich grungy look for the film that as dark and moody as it gets, is pleasantly versatile -and delights in showing off the incredible scenery and the meticulous design of every facet of this viking tale. The architecture, the clothing, the weapons are all deftly constructed with an eye for authenticity. The buff bodies, which maybe aren’t so authentic, match the machismo aesthetic and the athleticism of classical myth (the climax could be the scene from Grecian art). And though the film is not as stylistically bold as Eggers’ previous efforts, its’ long takes are a thing of beauty, as are its’ uses of natural lighting, and the clever ways it develops the mythic side of the story. Amleth’s run-ins with each spirit or witch are conveyed with an eerie though essential air that reminded me a lot of The Green Knight. Like that film, aspects of Amleth’s journey are episodic: otherworldly figures direct him to avatars and small challenges on the road to slaying his uncle. Every so often he envisions his family tree and what is deemed the fate of his own line, and in one captivating haze conceives of his own conveyance by a Valkyrie to Valhalla. It’s a beautiful, hypnotic way to emphasize that all-encompassing mythos that informs the context behind everything, enticing and foreboding in equal measure; and it’s the kind of thing Eggers would never have been able to pull off in his previous movies. But with a larger scale comes the resources to articulate a vision more succinctly. The world is so full and palpable, its’ avenues of the paranormal so intriguing, its’ set-pieces broad and exciting, its’ action dynamic -much befitting a grand foundational story told through a lens so distinct yet palatable.
I don’t know that The Northman is Eggers’ best film -it drags a touch through the middle and its’ masculine tropes are perhaps too easy to dilute. But it is his most thrilling, probably his most immersive too. A wild, robust, intricately crafted, exceptionally performed film that tells its classic story in a decidedly critical, subversive way, without losing any of its’ necessary lustre. Old stories made new again -you love to see it!
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