Some movies don’t need dialogue and are worse off for its presence. The Northman is among their number. If you took away every scene where characters are having conversations, or made them mostly indiscernable (say, speaking a period- and regionally appropriate dialect, without subtitles), The Northman would be vastly elevated.
The strength of visuals make mediocre dialogue a bit insulting. Do we really need Amleth and Olga talking about their shared offspring when we also see children appear on the family tree after some Beltane forest lovemaking? Do we get anything out of Gudrun’s monologue about betraying her dead husband that we wouldn’t understand from her weirdo, feral performance? Filmmaking is a visual medium, and Eggers is so marvelously good at it here, talking feels like a gauche redundancy.
The actors don’t do any justice to the dialogue–although these are normally great actors. The casting is another thing that fails this movie. Anya Taylor-Joy plays herself (I say affectionately), Nicole Kidman’s iPhone face is *extremely* distracting (though I do love her, always), while Ethan Hawke and Willem Dafoe are clearly overgrown theater kids enjoying a chance to get paid for puppy play.
Give me The Northman exactly as it is, but take away its dialogue and cast a passel of nobodies–I’d have no criticisms. I wouldn’t even notice the pacing slows *way* down during the dialogue because I’d be nodding along cheerfully with all the talking I didn’t understand.
Those are pretty serious, foundational criticisms. I gave this movie five stars anyway on account of leaving me absolutely pumped, hyped on testosterone, punching the air over REVENGE. Yesss, Viking Hamlet, murder everyone! Hammer their bodies to trees! Follow Bjork’s advice! Why does the valkyrie have braces? Is there dental care in Valhalla? Who cares!
This pushes my buttons so hard. I have a deep love of berserkers, Iceland’s landscape, and longboats. A sword with a name (Draugr, in this case) will always own my heart. Mythic tales of betrayal among the ruling class are so good.
Consider the battle on an erupting volcano. Does it make any sense that these men can heavily breathe volcanic gases among the extreme heat of magma? No! Is it an extremely vibey, homoerotic battle that leaps off the TV screen straight into my loins? Yes!
I am smitten with the thing Eggers does where he treats mythology with the most sincere care. I don’t care if it’s Puritan-hunting witches or conversations with Willem DaFoe’s head. I’m so happy watching it.
Every time I watch The Northman, I grow twenty chest hairs and rip off my shirt, roaring, to show them to the world. Note that these chest hairs are entirely donated by the irrationally shredded, hairless-as-seals men central to the movie.
(image via Universal Pictures)
