‘Loveable’: Karlovy Vary Review

Dir/scr: Lilja Ingolfsdottir. Norway. 2024. 101mins

To describe the marriage between Maria (a remarkable, raw Helga Guren) and Sigmund (Oddgeir Thune) as a battleground would suggest that there are two warring parties. But Sigmund, a musician, is away for long periods for work, leaving Maria to manage four children (two sullen older kids from her first marriage, two younger with Sigmund), a chaotic Oslo household and a demanding, faltering career. When Sigmund moots the possibility of divorce, Maria comes to realise that it’s not just her marriage that is broken, and that her anger is a poison in both their lives. Superbly acted and sharply written, this impressive feature debut from Lilja Ingolfsdottir casts a perceptive, empathetic eye over the messy business of breaking up.

Ingolfsdottir’s skill as a storyteller is evident in the way she manoeuvres the audience’s sympathies throughout the film

Ingolfsdottir makes the step to feature directing having spent several decades making shorts. The Oslo backdrop and the theme of relationship discord may draw comparisons with The Worst Person In The World, yet this is serious-minded and emotionally-exposed storytelling which has more in common with the work of female-focused Scandinavian filmmakers such as Susanne Bier. As such, it should find a receptive audience at further festivals and when it is released domestically in October. There is one overwrought music choice that slightly undermines a pivotal moment but, otherwise, this is confident, grown-up storytelling which will make for uncomfortably relatable viewing for anyone who has ever picked a fight over sock-sorting and household duties.

As well as penning the screenplay, Ingolfsdottir also takes on editing and production design duties, and her skill as a storyteller is evident in the way she manoeuvres the audience’s sympathies throughout the film. The story is told from Maria’s perspective so, of course, we side with her initially. Through a montage introduced by a narration by Maria (it later becomes clear that she’s talking to a therapist, serenely played by Heidi Gjermundsen Broch), we see the early stages of her relationship with Sigmund. He’s effortlessly charming, blessed with the kind of sunny charisma that comes with natural good looks and very few responsibilities in life. But Maria has a quality that is equally as special – she’s confident, sexy and challenging. She’s a woman who knows exactly what she wants, and what she wants is Sigmund.

Seven years and two children later, we rejoin Maria, who is having the world’s shittiest day. Her cards are declined; her youngest child empties the contents of a cereal packet onto the supermarket floor; her oldest teen is hoarding grudges that she can later use against her mother in an argument. The hand-held camera is practically vibrating along with Maria’s simmering hostility when Sigmund finally arrives home. But, over the course of the arguments that follow, we stop being righteously aggrieved on Maria’s behalf, and start to realise the full extent of her toxicity.

There are several scenes that stand out, in most cases for their dramatic potency – although one, in which Maria recites self-help mantras into a mirror, while a mawkishly overblown song saturates the score, is a misjudgement. More effective is a searing and brittle encounter between Maria and her mother (Elisabeth Sand), in which venomously passive aggressive criticisms are dressed up as “teasing”, and Maria starts to recognise the roots of her own destructive impulses.

Equally wrenching, but infinitely more gentle, is a scene in the therapist’s office, in which a wrung-out Maria curls up on the couch and quietly starts to cry. It’s a turning point, both for Maria and for the film, which leaves us with hope for the possibility of reconciliation and a resounding vote of confidence for Norway’s psychiatric services.