Drømmer was meant to be a meditative exploration of first love, memory, and the power of personal narrative-a film that should have delved into the delicate interplay between lived experience and its preservation in words. In theory, director Dag Johan Haugerud's ambitious final installment in his "Sex, Dreams, and Love" trilogy promised a rich, introspective journey through the tumultuous inner life of Johanne (Ella Øverbye), as she navigated an obsessive crush on her teacher (Selome Emnetu) and documented her emotional odyssey in a diary meant to capture a fleeting moment of passion.
In practice, however, Drømmer is not really a movie. What we saw on screen wasn't a cinematic experience at all-it was a monotonous literature reading with moving pictures on screen. There's virtually no sense of true cinematography here: the supposed visual aesthetics are non-existent, the actors deliver their lines without any palpable emotion, and any hint of live, resonant performance is completely absent. Instead of being enveloped in a tapestry of carefully crafted images and nuanced performances, the audience is subjected to a sterile recitation of words that feel more like a tired reading session than a film.
The film's thematic ambitions-to explore the inner conflicts of first love, the tension between reality and its written representation, and the complex dynamics within a family grappling with unspoken truths-are entirely undermined by its flat, lifeless presentation. What should have been a profound journey into the depths of youthful longing and introspection is reduced to a tedious string of narrative passages, devoid of the emotional and visual dynamism one expects from cinema.
In essence, while Drømmer aimed to be a reflective, even transformative, look at the nature of memory and desire, it ultimately fails to transcend the medium of a monotonous recitation. Rather than engaging us with its supposed exploration of inner truth, it leaves us frustrated and disconnected-a missed opportunity where the lofty ideas remain locked behind a facade of lifeless words and uninspired visuals.
This award is a disgrace to Berlinale, as it erodes the intrinsic connection between genuine cinematic artistry and the festival's purpose, reducing it to a narrow psychosocial agenda.
