This is a spoiler-free review.

How does one make a high-budget arthouse flick?

It’s the question that Robert Eggers’ The Northman contends with right from the start of his $90-million historical epic. Few directors can command the financial means to explore carnal and macabre depictions of Nordic mythology, let alone have the privilege of top-billed performers like Nicole Kidman mouthing Old English lines for the sake of historical accuracy. Fortunately for Eggers, the expressionistic period horror of The Witch and the transgressive eroticism of The Lighthouse have given him carte blanche to craft a high-octane adventure that puts other studio films to shame.

An entirely different beast from his previous two films, The Northman isn’t trying to elevate horror nor dismantle fetishistic fantasies. It’s a fully-formed exercise in realigning blockbuster pictures back to the way they should be: big, visually breathtaking, and bolstered by a unique vision. “Broadly appealing” is less an insult towards the film but more towards its association with the homogenized cinematic climate it cuts through. It’s easy to interpret a lack of finesse when the story’s distant relative is Hamlet, and the action looks replicated from other tentpole setpieces (and even television, see Game of Thrones long-shots), but these evaluations overlook the attention to detail unique to this film, which is sorely lacking in committee-constructed films.

In an attempt to strike a balance in said cinematic climate, Eggers mentioned that he had Gladiator and Braveheart in mind. He reportedly had to re-edit the final cut so as not to “require a master’s degree in Viking history” when watching. The result is a merging of two worlds: the slow and meticulous pace of arthouse films and the mind-numbing excess of mainstream action. It’s a well-rounded meal that everybody can chew on, making it liable to some lows but also some unimaginably high highs.

Alexander Skarsgård plays Prince Amleth, son of King Aurvandill (played by Ethan Hawke) and heir to the kingdom’s throne. At a young age, he witnesses his father’s murder at the hands of Fjölnir (played by Claes Bang), the king’s brother. This prompts Amleth to flee from his home, pledging to exact revenge on the usurper, save his mother Gudrún (played by Nicole Kidman), and fulfill what was foretold to him by the king’s jester, Heimir (played by Willem Dafoe). In what feels like the film’s most overly-edited sequence, the initial set-up is surprisingly breezed through, leaving little room to linger on the above-stated characters.

It isn’t a surprise that the following scene is a bloodbath filled with ambitious tracking shots and expert choreography. The action sequence is a microcosm of Jarin Blaschke’s ambitious cinematography and his ability to match the brooding atmosphere of the Icelandic legend. There are many flavors to the film’s milieu, sometimes dredged in greys and blues, and other times only lit by the orange emanating from the natural fire. It’s probably not contentious to say that this is a beautiful-looking film.

Years later, as a berserker, Amleth finds himself ravaging towns along with fellow Vikings. He encounters Olga (played by Anya Taylor-Joy), one of the Slavic slaves occupying the land of the Rus. She offers an alternative life to the vengeful prince, a breath of normalcy, and a return to the ordinary world in hero’s journey terms. Besides that, Taylor-Joy offers little to the table and is relegated to her primal attributes of benevolence and mysticism, traits which are undoubtedly faithful to the legend but unsubstantiated for modern standards. Björk also returns after 17 years removed from acting to play a Seeress who prophesizes Amleth’s revenge in a brief yet eerie sequence. 

The film’s highlight is Skarsgård’s forceful turn in the lead role, but an underrated aspect is the vulnerability he allows to feed into his performance. Amleth is a dirtied character, unflinching in the face of mud and blood and blinded by the viciousness of fate. Each guttural scream from him is accompanied by a contemplative search for purpose, a push and pull between a vengeful life and a free one. He decides to be chained as a means of confronting his now exiled uncle and witnessing the noble life snatched from him. One can palpably sense the longing and despair that has defined his adulthood. Skarsgård plays the part with the temerity of a ruthless wolf, but hiding underneath the headdress is a broken child who is alone in the world. 

Sjón, an Icelandic novelist, joins Eggers in writing the script, which is every bit a play in the same way Joel Coen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth was — but on steroids. One of the creative liberties they took on for the Nordic story is the inclusion of a werewolf-inspired coming of age ritual inside a bleak cavern, and it plays out as bizarrely as it sounds. The in-world mythology has a serene, matter-of-fact quality to it, as though visions of arterial family trees and blue-eyed warriors riding horses to Valhalla were commonplace in this universe. It’s part of the script’s charm and, by extension, the visual language that translates it.

The Northman is like an indie artist finally getting recognized for their overlooked music and signing with a rich record label. With a modest budget, and the pressure to appease a wider crowd, the budding artist faces an even more daunting task than ever before. Yet, despite being in uncharted territory where sacrificing creative vision is the name of the game, the crew of this sprawling epic proves that with brute force and ambitious energy, one can strike a balance that honors the best that compromise has to offer. – Rappler.com