Joachim Trier's Sentimental Value soars and crashes during its opening scene. As Nora (Renate Reinsve), experiencing stage fright, delays the start of the show and complains about not being able to breathe, you first watch her curiously. But when the episode stretches on for several more minutes, you, like the audience onscreen, grow impatient and a bit annoyed. Is this how Nora acts before every show? She doesn't later in the film, before another performance, so what prompts such extreme nervousness here? And how do the rest of the cast and crew handle her anxiety each time? Are they irked by it? Do they feel hesitant about working with her on new productions?
Trier's incuriosity toward these small matters reflects his incuriosity toward bigger questions, namely, whether all the trouble Nora puts the crew through is ultimately worth it. How good an actor is Nora, really? When she's onstage, what possesses her, and how does she conjure a storm in the theater with her acting?
All Trier does is offer a glimpse of Nora's craft: we watch her for a few seconds as she intensely delivers a word or a line. In another scene, she simply walks onto the stage, and Trier cuts away. So, how do we know she is a successful actor? We hear people complimenting her after the show—this is the only evidence the director provides. With Sentimental Value, Trier, in other words, has made something facile. His view of art and artists is thin.
Gustav (Stellan Skarsgård), a film director, attends the Deauville American Film Festival for a career retrospective. He is apparently a celebrated filmmaker who has also made documentaries, but the only film we see is the one starring Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas), one of his daughters. Even here, we are shown only the climax, which, without context or specificity, resembles a bland, Oscar-bait showreel.
I am almost tempted to call Sentimental Value itself a bland, Oscar-bait showreel. It is a movie of middling value, containing middling drama and middling intellectual substance. Trier and his co-writer, Eskil Vogt, inflate the material with just enough weight to lend it a veneer of respectability.
There is a microaggressive conflict between Gustav and his daughters, Nora and Agnes, especially Nora. She cannot stand to be in the same room as him; she accuses him of emotional unavailability. This is why she refuses to work with him on his new film, which is based on his mother's tragic life. That mother, Karin (Vilde Søyland), was a member of the Norwegian resistance and was tortured during the Nazi occupation before eventually committing suicide.
The details of the torture are revealed in a scene where Agnes visits the National Archives of Norway to read Karin's file. Her death undoubtedly had a profound psychological effect on seven-year-old Gustav, and it likely shaped his relationship with his own daughters and wife. He was also a busy filmmaker, rarely at home—a complaint Agnes and Nora often repeat. His new movie, then, becomes a kind of bridge intended to close the emotional gap between himself and his family.
Mortality is introduced more directly when Gustav visits his friend and cinematographer Peter (Lars Väringer) and sees his frail body. Peter tells him that, given their age, this could be their last collaboration and urges him not to feel compelled to "keep up with the times." He encourages Gustav to trust his instincts and avoid compromising his personality.
There is also the matter of Nora's barren love life. She has an affair with a married colleague who, after divorcing, refuses to commit to her. Gustav describes Nora as someone "full of rage"—a rage responsible for her loneliness.
Trier, as you can see, fills Sentimental Value with enough emotional and intellectual talking points to fuel post-screening discussions. He invites you to impose your own thoughts and experiences on the film because he himself provides no spark, no personality. His filmmaking is almost static: the images are plain, impersonal, and devoid of perspective. His camera neither expands nor dramatizes the material. Instead, it flattens everything, filtering it through polished, self-conscious performances, as if the actors are always aware of the camera, their cues, and the weight of their lines.
These first-rate actors do not disappear into their characters; they are thrust into the spotlight. The pauses, inflections, and gestures are magnified. You do not see a historian, a stage actor, or a filmmaker—you see professional performers demonstrating their skill.
Trier approaches his work with dry solemnity. Instead of shaking you or moving you with the depth of his insight, he tries merely to impress you with pictures of actors acting. Those actors, alas, fail to inhabit their roles convincingly. What remains is a dull drama with flat performances and a narrow perspective. Trier illuminates neither the art nor the artist. His directorial lens is severely stifling.
Final Score- [4.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times