Cristian Mungiu does not shy away from bringing complex and controversial phenomena and events to the screen. He did so in ‘4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days‘—the film that launched his international career and earned him his first Palme d’Or—which revisited the dictatorship era and highlighted the Romanian communist regime’s criminal policy of boosting the birth rate at any cost. He followed this with ‘Beyond the Hills ‘and then ‘Graduation‘, films rooted in recent Romanian reality that mirror a society undergoing rapid change. ‘Fjord‘ draws inspiration from true events, a highly publicized case that occurred a decade ago. In this respect, it resembles ‘Beyond the Hills‘; like that film, it sheds light on little-known aspects of the conflicts between traditional life and religious beliefs—whether enduring or resurgent—in Romania and beyond. I have not seen the other films that competed at Cannes this year, but the second Palme d’Or awarded to Mungiu appears to recognize a film that confirms the director’s technical mastery, his courage in tackling difficult issues, and his ability to translate them into cinematic language. While in his previous films it was evident—or at least easy—to distinguish good from evil, ‘Fjord‘ offers no moral victors or screenwriter’s favorites in a dispute situated at the uncomfortable intersection of cultures and traditions in our supposedly globalized world. Screenwriter and director Mungiu offers the facts, and the audience is invited—if they wish—to pass judgment.
The film’s plot is inspired by a real-life case from about a decade ago—a case that received extensive media coverage and sparked heated debate on social media. This aspect, however, is less apparent in Mungiu’s dramatization, which focuses on the arrival of the family—named Gheorghiu in the film—in a small community situated along a remote, picturesque Norwegian fjord. The pressure of the natural environment—spectacular and cold, constantly reminding the few inhabitants of its power and the dangers posed by avalanches—looms in the background. Even here, the perception differs between Norwegian and Romanian viewers: Norwegians see something natural and familiar, whereas Romanians sense the cold, the alienation, and the threat. Mihai is an aeronautical engineer by training but settles for a modest job maintaining the local school’s IT systems. Lisbet is a nurse by profession, caring for both the elderly and the deceased. They have five children—including a boy and a girl on the verge of adolescence—but what most clearly sets them apart from those around them is their religious faith and the conservative principles guiding their children’s upbringing. Initially, they are welcomed by the community and appreciated by their neighbors. However, when their eldest daughter arrives at school showing signs of possible abuse, the child protection authorities are notified. Pending the resolution of the case, the children are removed from their parents’ home and placed with other families dozens of kilometers away. The investigation and subsequent legal proceedings will take months.
The production is stylish, the narrative flows smoothly, and the characters are superbly drawn. The actors deliver memorable performances, avoiding both idealization and caricature. Sebastian Stan completely inhabits the role of Mihai—an intelligent, family-devoted man who nonetheless cannot deviate from the letter of his faith. Renate Reinsve —a superb Norwegian actress I had previously noted in a few films—is on the verge of international stardom, and the role of Lisbet will further boost her profile. The entire cast is excellent; their sensitivity is conveyed precisely through a cool, restrained approach devoid of melodrama.
How the film is perceived will depend largely on the individual viewer. Given that approximately a quarter of Romania’s population currently lives abroad, the challenges faced by the Romanian diaspora have become a major theme in recent Romanian cinema. The struggles of adaptation, homesickness, communication barriers, and cultural differences are all reflected in these films, and ‘Fjord‘can be seen as part of this trend. Yet, at its core, this is also a matter of moral judgment, for the central figures are the five children. Were the actions taken by the Child Protection Services and the subsequent court rulings truly in their best interest? Did parents, the school, and the community protect them sufficiently? Neither then nor now can the exact details of the actual case be established with certainty. One of the merits of Cristian Mungiu’s film is that it avoids passing judgment, presenting the events as they unfolded and portraying the main characters with both their strengths and their flaws. Each viewer may form an opinion, but this stems largely from their own personal views. Lines of demarcation between cultures exist everywhere: between the immigrant family and their neighbors, between parents and children, among schoolchildren of diverse backgrounds, between religious beliefs and educational precepts, and even within the mixed Gheorghiu family itself. Can these divides be bridged so that coexistence prevails over conflict? Cristian Mungiu appears pessimistic—at least in the short term—regarding the prospects for human cohesion when faced with the rigidity of dogmas, whether religious or legal. Globalization and European integration may have erased visible borders, yet invisible ones can prove far more tangible and persistent. Opinions on what we see on screen will vary, too—which is precisely what I believe Cristian Mungiu intended.