YNOT at the Movies

Sex

In "Sex" (Norway 2024 | in Norwegian | 118 min.) , writer-director Dag Johan Haugerud takes what could have been a heavy-handed morality tale and turns it into something much more honest, and far more absorbing. The story follows two coworkers, the Chimney Sweeper (Jan Gunnar Røise) and his boss, the Department Head (Thorbjørn Harr), both in seemingly stable, heterosexual marriages. But when the Sweeper casually shares with his boss that he had a one-time sexual encounter with another man—not out of confusion or secret longing, but simply as a spontaneous experience—a long and complicated conversation begins.

What's most striking is how relaxed and unforced this exchange feels. Haugerud allows the story to unfold entirely through dialogue, and yet the film is never static. The conversation flows with surprising clarity and tension, touching on fidelity, sexuality, gender roles, and what it means to understand yourself, and be understood by someone else. These men aren't engaged in a philosophical debate; they're just trying to process something that doesn't easily fit into the categories they've grown up with.

The dynamic shifts again when the Chimney Sweeper shares the experience with his wife (Siri Forberg) who receives the news with anger, confusion, jealousy, and some thoughtful questions. Their conversation becomes one of the film's strongest stretches. It's not about betrayal in a traditional sense, but about what this moment reveals about the shape of their relationship, and the dynamic between sex and marriage.

In a parallel thread, the Department Head confesses to having recurring dreams where he's perceived as a woman. These dreams unsettle him, not because they threaten his sense of masculinity, but because they expose how much of his identity may be shaped by others' expectations. He brings these dreams to his wife (Birgitte Larsen). She listens with compassion and caution, unsure of what to make of it, but open to the conversation.

There are echoes here of Hong Sang-soo's dialogue-heavy dramas, where long takes and rambling conversations slowly reveal the contradictions and emotions beneath the surface. But Haugerud's tone is gentler, his characters are careful and considerate. They say too much, or not quite enough. And that's what makes them feel so real.

*Sex* is a film that doesn't offer judgments or conclusions. It gives its characters space to be confused, thoughtful, contradictory, and still deeply human. It's a rare film where conversation is the action, and where honesty is both the risk and the reward.

"Sex" screens at the Roxie Theater in San Francisco on Tuesday, September 2, 2025 at 6pm.

Love

In "Love" (Kjærlighet | Norway 2024 | in Norwegian | 119 min.), the second film in writer-director Dag Johan Haugerud's Oslo trilogy, the focus isn't on falling in or out of love, but on how people live without it, or on its quieter, less defined edges. The film weaves together a handful of characters whose relationships, romantic or otherwise, drift between affection, routine, and emotional self-preservation.

The first character we meet is Heidi (Marte Engebrigtsen), a city employee leading a tour of Oslo's government buildings. She offers her own interpretive reading of the building's sculptures, suggesting they reflect a society that embraces same-sex couples, single mothers, and nontraditional domestic arrangements. Her tone is lightly ironic, hinting at how culture and politics shape what kinds of relationships are seen as acceptable or ideal.

Heidi's friend Marianne (Andrea Bræin Hovig) is a doctor who works with prostate cancer patients. She's self-contained and unhurried, not in pursuit of love or particularly bothered by its absence. She is introduced by Heidi to Ole (Thomas Gullestad), a single father with two daughters and an ex-wife next door. Their brief interaction is warm and open, but also makes clear that his life is already defined by family commitments.

Marianne's conversations with her colleague Tor (Tayo Cittadella Jacobsen) nudges Marianne into a different kind of reflection. Tor, a nurse with a quiet, steady presence, talks openly about seeking casual sexual encounters with men on Oslo's ferries. He doesn't link sex to love, or romance to commitment. For Marianne, who has spent much of her life apart from relationships, this idea is new and oddly freeing. It doesn't lead to an immediate change, but it leaves her thinking: perhaps there are other ways of being close to someone, or of letting pleasure into her life without reshaping everything else.

Tor, meanwhile, finds himself in unfamiliar emotional territory when he begins treating Bjørn (Lars Jacob Holm). What starts as routine patient care grows into something more affectionate. There's no confrontation or confession, but Tor's attention to Bjørn becomes personal in a way that clearly moves beyond his usual detachment. His view of intimacy begins to shift, even if he can't fully explain how.

The film moves among these characters without urgency. Haugerud doesn't build toward a dramatic payoff, but instead lets small moments accumulate. The emotional tone is steady and precise, allowing room for questions rather than conclusions.

This is a film about people quietly reshaping what connection means to them. It offers no prescriptions, no judgments, just the suggestion that there are many ways to care for someone—and that sometimes, allowing that care to exist without definition is enough.

"Love" screens at the Roxie Theater in San Francisco on Tuesday, August 12, 2025 at 6pm.

Dreams

The final and most affecting film in Dag Johan Haugerud's Oslo trilogy, "Dreams" (Drømmer | Norway 2025 | in Norwegian | 110 min.) is a deeply felt portrait of first love, self-discovery, and the role of writing in making sense of overwhelming emotions. It won the top prize at this year's Berlin International Film Festival and stands as the most emotionally resonant and fully realized entry in the trilogy.

Johanne (Ella Øverbye) is a 17-year-old student who develops a deep affection for her French teacher, Johanna (Selome Emnetu). At first, she expresses her feelings privately in a diary. But as she begins spending time with Johanna outside of class—under the pretense of learning how to knit—her emotions grow stronger and more difficult to handle.

Unable to manage the intensity on her own, Johanne shares her diary with her grandmother, Karin (Anne Marit Jacobsen), a poet. Recognizing both the honesty and literary potential in the writing, Karin shows it to Johanne's mother, Kristin (Ane Dahl Torp). To Johanne's surprise, they don't treat it as something shameful or inappropriate. Instead, they see it as something worth sharing, and encourage her to consider publishing it.

The film is built around Johanne's voice. Her diary entries are read throughout in voiceover, giving shape to her inner experience with precision and emotion. Haugerud leans fully into this structure, and it works beautifully. The narration isn't used as explanation but as a way of staying inside her perspective, where the most important shifts are internal.

Ella Øverbye gives a sensitive, unaffected performance that captures both the intensity and uncertainty of Johanne's feelings. Selome Emnetu plays Johanna with calm and warmth, fully present in their shared scenes without ever overstating or undercutting their dynamic.

The film focuses entirely on Johanne's experience, which clarity gives the film its strength. Haugerud doesn't shape the story toward a resolution or life lesson, he allows us to sit with Johanne's confusion, longing, and need to express herself. Writing becomes her way of holding onto something that feels too large to carry alone.

Of the trilogy, "Dreams" is the most emotionally open and sharply realized. While "Sex" explores the complexities of adult identity and "Love" lingers in spaces of solitude and quiet negotiation, "Dreams" captures the moment when love first takes shape—raw, consuming, and unforgettable.

"Dreams" screens at the Roxie Theater in San Francisco on Friday, September 19, 2025 at 6pm, followed by a Q&A with writer-director Dag Johan Haugerud in person.