Hamsun

This Norwegian-Swedish-Danish-German coproduction directed by Jan Troell is quite a compelling watch.

Max von Sydow playing a great role as the old writer In his early 80'ies. The Norwegian Nobel laureate has written some profoundly world-renowned novels made into films since 1916.

This film takes on Hamsun's legacy as an anti-British and pro-nazi spokesman. It tells the naïve older man's belief in the 3rd Reich, but with Norway as a sovereign nation. He meets up with Hitler, who he admires, to ask him to save Norway from Reichskommisar Terboven.

Following the last years of Hamsun's life (he died in 1952) this film gives an upright depiction of the national hero ruining his reputation with his nazi sympathies.

The film lets Max von Sydow and Danish Gitte Nørby as his wife Marie Sydow speak their own native languages, even if both Knut and Marie was Norwegian. This is it first off-outting but you soon forget it. Why it's done? Maybe making it easier to accept that he was a traitor?

In Scandinavian filmography this is a must watch.

The movie is an exquisite and deeply layered biographical drama that delves into the life of a towering figure in literature, whose legacy remains controversial due to his staunch allegiance to Nazi Germany during World War II. The film, starring the legendary Max von Sydow in the title role, is not just a historical account but a masterful character study that examines the intricate and often contradictory nature of its protagonist, Knut Hamsun. This context of the war adds a dark and profound backdrop to the narrative, as it explores how ideological conviction during one of the most catastrophic conflicts in history can blind individuals to the devastating consequences of their actions.

Directed by Jan Troell, who also serves as the film's cinematographer, the movie crafts a visual aesthetic that is both stark and poetic. The use of natural lighting and carefully composed frames immerses the audience in the early 20th-century Scandinavian landscape, reflecting both the external historical context of Nazi occupation and the internal conflicts of the characters. The cold, muted color palette evokes the emotional detachment and turmoil of Hamsun's later years, while moments of warmth and vibrancy punctuate key relationships, particularly between Hamsun and his wife, Marie (Ghita Nørby).

Troell's cinematography strikes a perfect balance between intimacy and grandeur. Close-up shots allow us to witness every flicker of doubt, pride, or despair in von Sydow's mesmerizing performance, while expansive landscape shots place these personal struggles within the broader socio-political upheaval of World War II. The conflict is not merely a historical backdrop but a key element that influences the personal choices and ideological battles of the characters. The war's shadow looms large over Hamsun's career, as his support for Nazi Germany tarnishes his once-revered intellectual reputation, making his ideological journey even more tragic and poignant.

Max von Sydow delivers one of his finest performances as Knut Hamsun. His portrayal is a masterclass in subtlety, capturing the novelist's intellectual arrogance, vulnerability, and eventual disillusionment with extraordinary depth. Von Sydow embodies Hamsun's contradictions: a man of deep convictions, yet one blinded by his own ideals, leading him to a tragic downfall. His unflinching support of Nazi Germany-despite the war's atrocities-reflects a moral blindness that deeply contradicts the humanism often found in his literary work. This ideological stubbornness ultimately leads Hamsun to face both personal and public disgrace.

Equally impressive is Ghita Nørby as Marie Hamsun. As Hamsun's wife, she provides an emotional counterpoint to his aloofness. Her performance is fiery and passionate, portraying Marie as a fiercely independent and politically engaged woman who, unlike her husband, fully embraces Nazism. Her character's unwavering support for the Third Reich, in contrast to Hamsun's more complex, conflicted stance, highlights the divisiveness of the war within personal relationships. The dynamic between von Sydow and Nørby is electric; their interactions feel lived-in, raw, and painfully authentic. Their marriage becomes a microcosm of the broader ideological war, torn apart by their political differences.

The supporting cast also shines, with nuanced performances that avoid caricature. The film refrains from reducing historical figures to one-dimensional villains or heroes, opting instead for a nuanced portrayal of the political and personal complexities of the era. The film's treatment of the Second World War is particularly striking; it does not shy away from exposing the moral failings of those who sided with Nazi Germany, showing the devastating human cost of their ideological convictions. This is not a straightforward narrative of good versus evil but a meditation on the blurred lines that were often present during the war.

Jan Troell's direction is deliberate and restrained, allowing the film to unfold like a literary novel rather than a conventional biopic. Instead of providing clear moral judgments, Hamsun challenges the audience to grapple with the contradictions of its central figure. The pacing is methodical, immersing viewers in Hamsun's world without rushing through historical events. This slow-burn approach might not cater to audiences seeking fast-moving political drama, but it serves the film's introspective and philosophical nature well. The film's restrained narrative gives it the space to explore the broader impact of World War II on both individuals and societies, touching on themes of loyalty, betrayal, and the devastating effects of war on intellectual and artistic figures.

The screenplay skillfully balances historical accuracy with dramatic interpretation. The dialogue is thoughtful and evocative, with much of the film's power deriving from the unsaid-the glances, the hesitations, the spaces between words. The script refuses to spoon-feed its audience, trusting viewers to engage with the moral and psychological dilemmas at play, especially as the war's realities become undeniable. Hamsun's eventual trial for his wartime associations becomes a crucial moment in the film, representing not only the reckoning of a man but also the reckoning of an entire generation's choices during the war.

The film's sound design is subtle yet effective. There is an almost meditative use of silence, emphasizing the isolation and alienation Hamsun experiences as his world unravels. The musical score is sparingly used, allowing moments of quiet tension to carry their own weight. When music does appear, it enhances the film's melancholic and introspective tone without overwhelming the narrative.

Beyond its biographical focus, Hamsun explores themes of artistic genius, moral blindness, and the consequences of ideological rigidity. It does not attempt to exonerate Hamsun for his actions, nor does it reduce him to a villain. Instead, it presents a portrait of a man who, despite his literary brilliance, failed to grasp the full ramifications of his political choices until it was too late. The film underscores the personal and societal consequences of the war, illustrating the ways in which political allegiance during such a destructive time could lead to moral and personal destruction.

The film also serves as a meditation on aging, regret, and the loss of relevance. Hamsun, once a revered intellectual, finds himself increasingly alienated from the world he helped shape, ultimately standing trial for his wartime associations. This sense of diminishing power is captured poignantly in von Sydow's performance, making Hamsun as much a tragedy of personal downfall as it is a historical drama. Through this lens, the film becomes a powerful commentary on the cost of ideological inflexibility during one of history's most harrowing conflicts, offering a poignant reflection on the moral choices made by those who lived through the Second World War.

One of the elements that make this film one of the most fascinating ever made is the use of language... while Knut and Marie Hamsun were Norwegians, Max von Sydow and Ghita Nørby speak Swedish and Danish respectively throughout the movie. To those not well-versed in Scandinavian languages, there is a very big difference. Most Swedes cannot understand more than 20% of spoken Danish and perhaps 60% of Norwegian. To make the comparison easier to grasp, imagine a Spanish movie where the main characters speak Portuguese and Italian. I don't know why this linguistic device was used, but the effect is remarkable. At first I figured it was a way to distance Norwegians from the main characters whom were regarded as traitors, but that theory doesn't hold since the character who plays Quisling (the man who "sold" Nazism to many Norwegians) speaks Norwegian throughout the film.

Trivia: throughout Scandinavia the name "Quisling" is not just synonymous with "back-stabber"... it has actually become a commonplace word and is found in most dictionaries. It is comparative to the phrase "his name is Mudd" in the U.S.

I expected an entirely different movie. Having read a single review when Hamsun was released, and having heard of him only from listings of Nobel Prize winners, I thought this would be about the traducing of a man's loyalty to country, the political evolution of an intellectual celebrity's thinking. It's not.

The movie is instead one of the most penetrating looks at a distinctive and more often than not failing, marriage I've ever seen. The examination begins after the couple have already been married 35 years; they are a tempestuous, often bitter, and jealous former author of children's books (and in youth, an actress) who desires love from her spouse - and a proud selfish ill-tempered intellectual author who lives in splendid rural isolation and admits his wife's nature disappoints him. The story of marriage is simply fascinating - even though the relations with their five children are cryptically portrayed.

It would be hard to ever better von Sydow's performance as Hamsun (or even as a man growing very old) - or the actress (previously unknown to me)who played his wife - they are simply astounding. I definitely recommend this movie - it is in the same vein as Cries and Whispers or Scenes from a Marriage.

The question I thought the film would address - the responsibility of someone for his words during wartime - is only glancingly struck. Without any attempt to whitewash Hamsun's written opinions favoring the Nazis who had occupied Norway, the movie's author clearly makes Hamsun more sympathetic as a human being as the movie continues.

I think few would agree about where the line should be drawn on punishment for one's opinions in a free society - when that society is at war. Most think those from the democracies who sympathized with the Nazis and Fascists during the Second World War (e.g., Ezra Pound, Celine, deKock, P.G.Wodehouse, Hamsun) are villainous. But is this because they sided with Nazis or because they sided with their country's enemies? Surely in a free society in peacetime, Ezra Pound's anti-semitic ravings and pro-fascist sympathies would not be punished as treason - any more than those who spoke, but did nothing, in favor of Stalin in America during the 1950s were ever tried for treason.

Clearly in a free society, the crime is not that one has taken a particular position, but that one has spoken in favor of an enemy during wartime. But if this is so, then what is one to say of those Americans who wrote to denounce the United States' war with North Vietnam? Or with Iraq? If we do refuse to label such writings as treason (and most probably do - few call for thousands of trials for treason), why? Could it be simply because neither Iraq nor North Vietnam was likely to so succeed that they would occupy the United States? If Iraq were winning so resoundingly that it now occupied parts of the United States, would writings denouncing the war and in favor of Iraq THEN be treason? Probably most would say so.

But by what logic does treason depend on whether one is winning or losing a war?

Further, if we assume a war between different ideologies, should those who have expressed sympathy for another country's ideology BEFORE any war - at a time when no one could have called it treason - be expected to completely forswear their former opinions the date the war is declared against that country? If so, is this not a strange definition of treason? That someone with PRE-WAR sympathies for a certain position must denounce his previous sympathies when his country goes to war against a country that shares his own beliefs?

Must someone perform an about face from his own repeatedly expressed views -- whenever his country enters a war - or be guilty of treason? Betray yourself or you betray your country? If so, is this not a demerit in any society professing to be free?

And yet no one can doubt that one's own country's success is badly affected (and conversely the enemy is uplifted) to the extent that influential people denounce their own government and praise the enemy - particularly when under enemy occupation.

The issues of treason for opinions are quite complex - but are scarcely touched on in this movie.

And that is fine - this is another movie altogether, psychologically penetrating, fascinating study of old age, of a poor marriage, of the unforeseen future as disappointment, of the yearning to die when old.

The extraordinary Max von Sydow stars in this terrific film about the fine line between complicity and collaboration in the life of a Noble Prize winning writer from Norway during the Nazi occupation. But this film is also so much more than that: it is a film about the complex and heart-wrenching relations between the writer, his wife and their children. Like "The Wonderful, Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl," this film asks where we draw the line in holding artists responsible for their art and actions in an oft confusing world. But it takes that question a step further in examining how his art may also have cost him his relationships with his wife and children.

This is a beautifully filmed, well-acted movie; a true character study of the inner lives of a family, particularly Knut Hamsun and his wife, Marie, evocatively portrayed by Ghita Norby. It is a subtle and slow-paced film in true Scandinavian fashion and von Sydow again shows us why he will be remembered of one of the finest actors of cinema's first 100 years. I highly recommend it, and for those who are interested in other movies dealing with this theme, especially as it relates to artists, so often regarded as naive regarding politics and how they are may be used and manipulated for political gain, I highly recommend "Mother Night," the aforementioned documentary about Riefenstahl, and "Mephisto."