The Northman Review

The Northman will hit theaters on April 22, 2022.

Two movies are at war within The Northman, the latest film from The Witch and The Lighthouse director Robert Eggers. The first is a fascinating, trance-like sensory experience that envelops you in the first half hour. The second is a historical revenge saga that feels much more straightforward — in its presentation, rather than in what actually unfolds — while also feeling hesitant in its depictions of violence and sensuality. Despite veering between these two modes of expression (one much more effective than the other), Eggers’ film still ends up on the right side of enjoyable, especially when taking into account that major Hollywood studios (in this case, Universal and its subsidiary Focus Features) so rarely distribute this kind of story — even the relatively neutered version that ends up on screen.

The tale, on paper, is a simple one. After witnessing his father, King Aurvandill War-Raven (Ethan Hawke), being betrayed and murdered by his ruthless uncle Fjölnir (Claes Bang), the Viking warrior prince Amleth (Alexander Skarsgård) returns many years later, in the guise of a slave, to quench his thirst for revenge and to rescue his mother, Queen Gudrún (Nicole Kidman). However, The Northman works best when plot momentum is an afterthought, and when it luxuriates in the smoky, shadowy atmosphere created by Eggers and his collaborators. Fjölnir’s betrayal, rather than a mere detail nestled a truncated prologue, arrives instead at the tail-end of a lengthy section (one of several chapters with its own on-screen title), in which the characters are established in broad strokes, in which a young Amleth (played by Oscar Novak) is initiated into his royal lineage, and in which the film’s themes of premonition and destiny come rushing to the fore.

The music, by Robin Carolan and Sebastian Gainsborough, is absolutely key, veering between folk-like strings that evoke King Aurvandill’s regality as he returns from war, and percussions so heavy — during murkier and more spiritual segments — that with the right theatrical sound system, the bass is sure to rattle your ribcage. An early scene, featuring Willem Dafoe in his all-too-brief appearance as a jester-like shaman, sees both Aurvandill and Amleth embodying hounds as they traipse around a fire on all fours, howling as they tap into animalistic instincts that exists side-by-side with vivid hallucinations of their distinguished ancestors. It’s just one of several such sequences where Carolan and Gainsborough’s thundering score might make you want to beat your chest and join in with an on-screen ritual (it certainly helps that Jarin Blaschke’s cinematography, awash in deep shadows and flickering flames, is just as eerie as it is inviting).

That sense of ritualism permeates the rest of the story. As a young Amleth escapes his uncle’s clutches, he begins repeating the phrase “I will avenge you, Father. I will save you, Mother. I will kill you, Fjölnir” to himself over and over again, even as an adult, until it becomes a holy mantra. This mission, however, ends up becoming morally complicated thanks to certain surprising specifics as the story unfolds. By the time these complications arise, the very notion of bloodshed — seemingly righteous bloodshed, in particular — takes on a spiritual bent. As various moon-lit visions compel Amleth to retrieve a mythical saber for his quest, the long and vengeful path laid out before him becomes entwined with the notions of royal destiny in the film’s early stages, and before long, even violence becomes its own form of twisted ritual.

While The Northman’s magnificent, dream-like sequences feel plucked out of time, its more traditional scenes in the back half tend to struggle. They don’t take up too much of the initial 30 minutes, but once the plot is set in motion, and the adult Amleth begins his journey — after much time spent as a violent plunderer, amongst a group of raiders who mold themselves after wolves and bears, leading to even more inviting scenes of primal revelry — the film then begins to settle into a more standard Hollywood narrative. This isn’t inherently a problem, especially since the romantic element it introduces also features a mystical bent (Anya Taylor-Joy plays Olga, a fellow slave whose beliefs in the occult, and whose prayers invoking natural forces, pair well with Amleth’s bloodthirsty disposition). However, when the story starts presenting less through shadows, music, body-language, and dreams, and more through dialogue, the film’s weaknesses as classical drama begin to pile up. Across the nearly 140-minute runtime, too many exchanges feel hastily assembled and poorly constructed, with little thought for relationships or rhythm.

Eggers is at his best when he bucks tradition, like when he dislodges his camera from moments of standard, over-the-shoulder coverage, and opts instead to move in to isolated close-ups where the characters practically address the audience (it often feels, in these moments, like they’re peering into their own souls as the camera floats towards them). In contrast, the blocking when characters exchange words feels stilted, with an eye towards plot-function rather than feeling, and the rote cuts that follow them line by line feel distinctly uninspired. There isn’t always something off-kilter about the construction of these scenes, but for a film whose most impactful moments play like haunting vignettes from early silent cinema (perhaps even more so than Eggers’ 4:3 black-and-white production The Lighthouse), the frequent returns to editing for continuity, and staging for dialogue in a plainly logistical sense, suck the air out of the room.

So much of the violence is implied, just off-screen, but little of it is felt.

Some of these more traditional moments unfold in long takes, and they largely manage to hold attention, but when they’re deployed for action scenes, the film’s shortcomings as a specifically Hollywood production also become apparent. The Northman has plenty of viciousness unfolding in its margins, especially as a tale whose “hero” is just as merciless as its villains. But too many of these instances feel bloodless, despite the frequent stabbings and dismemberments; so much of the violence is implied, just off-screen, but little of it is felt. The film’s nudity and sexuality feel just as dulled. In either case, the camera captures bodies at their most vulnerable — whether in moments of passion or bloodshed — but only briefly, before cutting away.

It’s a good thing the performances manage to reflect at least some of these ideas, concerned with the line between violence and passion, even if The Northman hesitates to ruminate on them in a meaningful aesthetic sense. Skarsgård, for instance, feels genuinely torn between his divinely inspired plans for vengeance and his newfound lust and affection for Olga. Bang, meanwhile, is simultaneously the most muted performer and the most alluring, using his silence to introduce hidden, thoughtful layers to Fjölnir that only serve to complicate Amleth’s single-minded ambition. Kidman especially keeps the film afloat when it leaves the more ethereal scenes behind, and she’s even at the center of the rare dialogue exchange that feels genuinely visceral and nauseating, as she taps into some delightfully unsettling instincts. And of course, mention must be made of Fjölnir’s indignant heir Thórir (Gustav Lindh), a minor character, but one whose detestable presence makes him the most punchable cinematic fail-son since Iosef in John Wick.

Despite its less effective elements growing increasingly prominent, The Northman maintains a sense of possibility, and unpredictability, thanks to the spiritual notions at its core. Whatever Amleth learns or unlearns, or experiences in the flesh — whatever gentleness compels him, on a human level, to veer from his vengeful path — sits right alongside his mad visions of glory, and his desire to fulfill a self-destructive destiny in a way that ultimately makes The Northman a tragedy. It is, however, a particularly picturesque tragedy that, in its most effective moments, sweeps you up in pulsating fire-side customs awash in beating drums that emanate as if from Valhalla itself. That’s worth occasionally tolerating scenes that feel run-of-the-mill by comparison.