"Armand," the directorial debut of Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel, is an exercise in simmering tension and discomfort-a film that traps us, much like its characters, in a confined space to explore a deep emotional abyss. Most of the narrative unfolds in an empty Norwegian school, where a couple and a mother meet to discuss an incident involving their children. With its restrained approach and dialogue-driven focus, the film builds a solid foundation of psychological drama but doesn't always manage to sustain this balance throughout its runtime.
The first act is where the film shines brightest. Tøndel shows an impressive command of atmospheric tension, using loaded dialogue and minimalist performances to create an uncomfortably intimate setting. Renate Reinsve, in yet another magnetic performance, plays Elisabeth, a mother fiercely defending her son while grappling with layers of doubt and desperation. From the outset, she conveys a complex emotional range: laughter that turns into sobs, glances that seem to search for answers in empty corners. Ellen Dorrit Petersen and Endre Hellestveit also bring depth to Sarah and Anders, the parents of the supposed "victim" in the incident. They expertly navigate a tightrope between compassion and repressed hostility. This trio of performances elevates the narrative, giving weight to conversations that might otherwise feel ordinary.
The school setting becomes a character in its own right. Its dark hallways and lifeless classrooms mirror the characters' mental states, as if the building itself embodies their repressed emotions. This use of space is one of the film's strongest points, turning a simple location into a stage brimming with tension and symbolism. Tøndel makes full use of every corner to convey claustrophobia and isolation, suggesting that even in a room full of people, these characters are alone in their internal struggles.
However, "Armand" falters when it strays from its linear narrative and ventures into more abstract territory. While the transitions to visual and surreal sequences are artistically executed, they feel out of place within the realistic framework established early on. These moments of abstraction, no matter how visually stunning, dilute the film's emotional impact and make the story feel less cohesive. The tonal shift is jarring, as if the director is trying to overload an already idea-heavy film with an additional, unnecessary layer.
Even so, Tøndel's screenplay keeps the audience invested. The gradual unveiling of secrets, always teetering between the explicit and the implied, holds our curiosity. But this approach also requires patience, as the deliberate pacing can feel stagnant at times. The film flirts with climactic moments but never fully delivers on them, leaving the tension unresolved.
Despite its flaws, "Armand" is an ambitious debut that deserves attention. Renate Reinsve, in particular, delivers a performance that carries the film, balancing fragility and strength in a hypnotic way. The supporting performances and Tøndel's atmospheric direction also warrant praise, showing that he has a promising future in filmmaking.
Overall, "Armand" is an intriguing exploration of guilt, grief, and the complexities of human relationships that hits more often than it misses. However, its attempts to juggle too many styles and themes end up diluting some of the potency that could have been achieved with a more focused approach. It's the kind of film that lingers in your mind, sparking reflection-for better or worse-even after the credits roll.
