Submarino

This was a difficult hour and fifty minutes. All the lives shown were hopeless ones in varying situations of despair and desperation. Nick and his brother (who is never named) struggle with the guilt of the loss of their baby brother whom they looked after for their alcoholic mother. The guilt has twisted their lives and ruined them. Nick is violent and his brother a junkie.

The film shows the quotidian travails of these people matter of factly. It's not asking for sympathy or involvement - these are unpleasant people despite their dreadful pasts. Horrors happen but we are not horrified - the film manages to keep us at arm's length.

I was surprised to find myself weeping at the end. The actors, writer and director had done their jobs and touched me profoundly without my having known it.

Vinterberg has a great grip on playing out human drama. Even though the circumstances are extreme and might feel a tiny bit too much, I never felt the emotions displayed are overplayed or inauthentic. The subtleties of the main actors were very nicely used to convey dread as well as sympathy with the two brothers. All in all it felt like a roller-coaster of redemption-feelings, since with every chapter closed, yielding the actual redemption, another backside opened, inducing jarring unfinishedness, unansweredness, and despair.

Still involved in his preoccupations with collapse of family foundation and its bonds (as evident also in his fantastic Dogme 1, FESTEN), Vinterberg comes back to Berlin with a film which is not about love at all, but about misery in general. SUBMARINO is the story of lack of love, family and commitment which is reflected in addiction, despair and murder. Looking through a glass darkly at the depressed people in times of depression, it gains its strength from the constraint approach to the subject matter. In his usual personal visions (of course, without a trembling camera after his Dogme propaganda and anti-bourgeoisie pretense), Vinterberg finds his way through a way far from any sentimentality. Grey overtones in each shot marks the world he's going to portray – a world in which everyone has forgotten all about fear and trembling. However it seems too naturalistic, SUBMARINO is able to make a survey into the lives of miserable men of the third millennium, not as a tearjerker, but as a veritable mirror

There's a very fine line between probing into human failings and all-out misery. Director Thomas Vinterberg's latest balances itself precariously between the two throughout, wavering between plot elements that seem grounded in its characters' emotional realities and those that are unnecessarily grim. Ultimately however, the movie redeems itself thanks to fine ensemble work and its daring, assured direction.

"Submarino" is the unforgettable story of two brothers, long estranged and haunted by a dark secret buried in their past, who live separate lives in modern day Copenhagen. Nick (Jakob Cedergren), a violent ex-con, tries to help out an old friend, but falls quickly into old habits. Meanwhile, his brother (Peter Plaugborg), raises his son, but is unable to escape his own demons of addiction. Each is on a path to self-destruction, and they must find each other -- before it's too late.

The cast is uniformly strong -- both Cedegren and Plaugborg are solidly believable in their roles. Cedegren's acting, minimal and yet poignant, is especially remarkable. Vinterberg has a genuine respect for his characters and a desire to see them transcend their trappings, and his film, in turn, mostly succeeds where it could so easily have fallen short. When its numerous narrative threads finally converge, the resulting pathos feels genuinely earned and authentic.

Adapted from the novel by Jonas T. Bengtsson, "Submarino" was an official selection at the 2010 Berlin International Film Festival.

I just had the honour to watch this Danish film at the Berlin Film Festival, and I have the feeling that this could be the winner. I don't want to give anything away, so I will be very general.

What we witness is the compelling story of two brothers divided by life, united by the same tragic event. Both adrift in their sorrow, they run down their self-destructive paths, with little to fight for.

It is no big drama, though. The narration is gentle and respectful, and leaves the audience in the position of not being able to judge the characters for their almost invariably wrong choices, but with a strong feeling of compassion for all of them.

The performances of the whole cast are extremely convincing (including the little boy playing Martin)and Vinterberg's direction - unlike his previous Dogma movies - is at the service of the disturbing realism of the story, working at the same time with a beautiful composition of the scenes (the cinematography, from the very first scenes, helps going straight to the soul). Chapeau.

A special praise has to go to the two actors playing the grown-up brothers. Jakob Cedergren (Nick) in particular makes us see the fragility of his character through his eyes, despite his apparent and imposing physical strength. But the whole cast is really credible all along, both with their physical appearance and their realistic acting.

This movie, with its realistic description of the consequences and the dynamics of substance addiction, destroyed families (what a critic to the Scandinavian society, where alcoholism is a devastating plague) should be screened in every high school.

And, let's say the truth: if you don't find yourself silently weeping in the last prison and church scenes, you most likely have no heart at all. I am fighting with my tears right now, just playing the movie in my mind again.