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‘Sentimental Value’ Review: Renate Reinsve, Stellan Skarsgard and Elle Fanning Illuminate Joachim Trier’s Piercing Reflection on Family and Memory

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‘Sentimental Value’ Review: Renate Reinsve, Stellan Skarsgard and Elle Fanning Illuminate Joachim Trier’s Piercing Reflection on Family and Memory

One of the constants in the intimate films of Joachim Trier is his ability to bring out the very best in his actors. With emotional acuity, he mines their inner lives for truths that seem subcutaneously to connect his cast to his characters. Actors don’t so much play roles in the Danish-Norwegian director’s work as live inside them. His transcendent 2022 feature, The Worst Person in the World, is both a romantic comedy and an anti-rom-com, a close study of a woman navigating a messy transitional period, alive with intergenerational insights and foibles most of us can recognize from some point in our lives.

Trier’s exquisite new film, Sentimental Value (Affeksjonsverdi), shifts its gaze from romantic to familial love, at times harmonious and at others tainted by resentment and anger. The director’s observation of the mutable contracts between sisters, and even more so, fathers and daughters, is intensely affecting in a movie freighted with melancholy but also leavened by surprising notes of humor. As always with Trier’s films, its depth of feeling sneaks up on you without announcing itself.

Sentimental Value

The Bottom Line

Genuine sentiments, fully earned.

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Venue: Cannes Film Festival (Competition)
Cast: Renate Reinsve, Stellan Skarsgard, Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas, Elle Fanning, Anders Danielsen Lie
Director: Joachim Trier
Screenwriters: Joachim Trier, Eskil Vogt

2 hours 12 minutes

There are faint traces of Bergman in Sentimental Value, but also Chekhov and Ibsen, pulled into a contemporary world where they deepen our understanding of history and memory in relation to the characters. With grace and empathy, it explores the volatile power of art and the cost of making highly personal work, to artists and to the people they have hurt.

That aspect is amplified by the living, breathing presence of an Oslo family home, a place that looks like a fairytale cottage, nestled among the soothing greens of the garden and looking onto expansive views of the city. But it’s also a fortress of sorrow, of pain remembered, embedded in its walls.

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Renate Reinsve, the luminous star of The Worst Person in the World, plays Nora, an acclaimed stage actress who pours her anxieties into her taxing roles. As a child, she wrote an essay for class about her family’s house and the history it contains of people who lived there before her, precociously attributing it sentient properties.

A hilarious early scene taps Reinsve’s natural gift for physical chaos comedy as Nora is gripped, not for the first time, by crippling stage fright. She misses her music cue (the portentous opening notes of The Shining’s main title theme) while having a full-scale meltdown and refusing to be coaxed by her director to go on. Kasper Tuxen’s agile camera follows her as she dashes from her dressing room to the backstage area, throwing herself at her fellow company member and married lover Jakob (Anders Danielsen Lie, from Worst Person and earlier Trier films). Tearing at her costume and hair, she pleads with him to fuck her, or failing that, slap her. He opts for the latter.

At their mother’s wake, Nora is the calm one while her normally composed sister Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas), an academic historian, is a mess. Retreating upstairs, Nora listens at the heating grate, just as she did as a child eavesdropping on her parents’ arguments or her therapist mother’s conversations with patients; she is startled to recognize the voice of her father Gustav (Stellan Skarsgard), an unexpected arrival.

A once lauded film director who hit a 15-year fallow patch, Gustav abandoned the family when the girls were young, moving to Sweden and divorcing their mother. The reunion is more than a little awkward. Further complicating matters is the fact that their mother got the house after the divorce, but the papers were never signed, meaning Gustav now owns it.

Trier and his longtime co-writer Eskil Vogt draw us in quickly to the family dynamic, establishing the sly ripples of humor that run through even the darker scenes.

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Gustav tells Nora he needs to speak with her while he’s in town, later showing her a script that he says might be the best thing he’s ever written and a great comeback for him as a director. He offers her the lead role of a young mother, transparently based on his own mother’s tragic story, though he denies it.

Nora wants no part of the movie or of him, calling him a drunk who has caused the family nothing but pain. She adds that he has never shown much interest in her work and barely even seen her on stage, which he justifies without apology by saying he doesn’t care for theater.

This is a marvelous role for Skarsgard, who gets to play up Gustav’s self-importance and lack of accountability along with his flirtatious charm as the movie progresses. The theater/film divide seems to confirm Nora’s view of him as the enemy. He doubles down on it later, confessing, “It’s not that I hate theater. I just hate watching it.” Sure enough, he then fails to show at her opening night.

Determined to go ahead with the film, he casts American star Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning), whom he met while being honored at a film festival. She’s jaded with Hollywood and with the projects she has lined up, roles to which she feels no connection.

Rachel responds emotionally to a screening of the movie that put Gustav on the map many years back, a WWII drama about orphaned Jewish children trying to escape the Nazis that ends on a lingering closeup of a young girl’s haunted face.

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That role was played by Agnes, who says the film shoot was the only time she ever got to be at the center of her father’s universe. When he approaches her about putting her son Erik (Oyvind Hesjedal Loven) in the new movie, she instantly refuses, though that doesn’t stop him from going around her to try convincing the boy what fun it would be. The DVD selections that he turns up with as a gift on his grandson’s ninth birthday are priceless. Less kid-friendly films would be hard to find.

Playing an egotist with a roguish appeal to which only his daughters are immune, Skarsgard stirs in wry humor (and a funny Netflix dig) about being an aging arthouse director whose success is behind him. He visits his longtime cinematographer Peter (Lars Väringer) in the swanky house paid for by his work on Lasse Hallström films. But during the 15 years since they last worked together, Peter retired; he’s keen to do the movie, but his frail physical state makes Gustav drop the offer. Gustav later asks his producer Michael (Jesper Christensen), “Am I too old for this?”

Trier and Vogt delicately layer in allusions to grief and sadness being passed down to successive generations, both in scenes Gustav rehearses with Rachel and archival records Agnes finds of her grandmother, who was tried for treason, imprisoned and tortured during the German occupation.

Despite the frequent touches of humor, the movie’s swirling mix of past and present builds pathos, yielding one of Trier’s characteristic stylized flourishes in which the faces of multiple generations wash over each other, staring into the camera as one person morphs into the next.

Around this time, Rachel starts to feel uncomfortable about doing the film, realizing it’s not her story to tell. In one of the movie’s loveliest scenes, she approaches Gustav about pulling out; he shows her more paternal fondness than he’s probably ever shown his daughters. Skarsgard is unexpectedly moving as Gustav acknowledges to himself the ways he failed his family, his arrogant certainty abruptly falling away.

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There are gorgeous moments late in the movie between the sisters that indicate how their roles have switched since childhood. Nora looked after Agnes when they were girls, but Agnes now serves as protector of her more fragile sister, just as she took on caregiver responsibilities with their dying mother. As wonderful as Reinsve is, Ibsdotter Lilleaas, who’s mostly unknown outside Norway, matches her every emotional beat. “How did it happen?” Nora asks Agnes. “You turned out fine and I’m fucked up.”

Unlike the Hollywood version of this story — the kind of script Rachel Kemp might have passed on — there’s no neat and tidy reconciliation. But Trier keeps tricks up his sleeve that provide surprises and leave open a window just enough to let in a sliver of hope.

For what might have been a standard family melodrama in less capable hands, Sentimental Value is uncommonly rich in emotional rewards and contemplative in its reflections on the places where we live becoming a permanent repository for our memories, remaining there even after we move on. The movie’s poignancy accumulates gradually, every supple turn expertly modulated as the presence of generations past becomes more tangible.

Cinematographer Tuxon (who also shot Worst Person) takes great advantage of the crystalline Scandinavian light, giving the chamber piece a panoramic amplitude. As always, Trier makes beguiling music choices, deep cuts that gently help shape the mood — the way he did with the Harry Nilsson songs and Art Garfunkel’s “Waters of March” cover in Worst Person.

Here, he bookends the movie with two songs brimming with tenderness and warmth: Terry Callier’s “Dancing Girl” and Labi Siffre’s “Cannock Chase.” Anyone whose soundtrack selections run from Roxy Music to Michael Nyman, New Order to Pastor T.L. Barrett & the Youth for Christ Choir, makes you want to score an invite to explore their album collection.

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The whole cast is superb, but it’s especially gladdening to see Reinsve working again with a director who draws out every ounce of raw feeling in her, but also makes you think — even in this often dark and predominantly dramatic context — how good she might be in screwball comedy.

One scene comes to mind that’s just a delight, when Nora and Agnes are in the house sorting through things, deciding what they might want to take as keepsakes.

Nora chooses a vase that Agnes wanted and when they see Gustav arriving with Rachel through the window, Nora backs out of the room like a bad driver, almost smashing the vase but catching it in time, running out the back door, across the yard and through a gap in the fence still clutching it. As she walks briskly toward the camera it seems like perfect continuity with her character Julie running in The Worst Person in the World.

Movie Reviews

Movie Review – Power Ballad (2026)

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Movie Review – Power Ballad (2026)

Power Ballad, 2026.

Directed by John Carney.
Starring Paul Rudd, Nick Jonas, Peter McDonald, Marcella Plunkett, Rory Keenan, Keith McErlean, Paul Reid, Beth Fallon, Havana Rose Liu, Jack Reynor, Naoimh Whelton, Mae Higgins, Ian Dillon, Kelly Thornton, Ebimie Anthony, Ruby Conway Dunne, Dean Panter, Juliette Crosbie, Robert Mitchell, Martha Breen, Dylan Kelly, Kellie El Mayss, and Alexa Scout Fagen.

SYNOPSIS:

Rick, a washed-up wedding singer, and Danny, a fading boy band star, bond over music and a late-night jam session. When Danny turns Rick’s song into a hit, Rick sets out to reclaim the recognition he believes he deserves.

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Co-writer/director John Carney (here crafting the screenplay alongside supporting actor Peter McDonald) has an established track record of contemporary musicals with catchy original tunes that have long been flying under the radar for Academy Award consideration, but it should also be pointed out that the success of his films also comes from placing a sharp and acutely insightful emphasis on the creative process and the characters themselves. That is especially true for his latest work, Power Ballad, which features Paul Rudd as an Ireland-based wedding singer cover band frontman, Rick Power, perhaps like many of us coming into the film, still living in another time, or maligning the fact that rock and roll, for the most part, is dying off to other genres, particularly bubblegum mainstream-friendly pop.

As such, Rick’s next gig takes him and the band to Los Angeles for the wedding of a relative of once-popular musician Danny Wilson (played by Nick Jonas, which gives viewers some idea of the music the character creates), failing to keep up with his fellow boy band mates, who have all apparently gone on to bigger and brighter things in the wake of breaking up and going their separate ways. In the hours after the ceremony, they drunkenly get together to kick around ideas, experiment with collaborating on music, and mostly conclude that, while they may come from different genres with wildly different perspectives on art and on each other, there is real talent. In the moment, it appears that mutual respect has been agreed upon.

That only lasts for about 6 months, when Rick Power, amusingly, finds out while walking around a mall that Danny has taken the song he wrote, ” I Can’t Write a Song Without You”, slapped a bridge on it, and become a worldwide sensation without even asking if he would like to be cut into a fraction of the profits. More frustrating and possibly even defeating regarding the happiness of his family is that neither Rick’s wife (Marcella Plunkett) nor his teenage daughter (Beth Fallon) expresses any belief that he could be capable of writing those lyrics. On some level, it’s also likely humiliating that said daughter, who regularly playfully mocks his songwriting ideas, sings along to the hit song.

And since this is a John Carney film, the song is undoubtedly going to stick with viewers not only for its catchiness and rhythms, but also for what the lyrics mean for each character and art bearing a more personal meaning to the actual creator, who oftentimes might be the only one who knows the true emotional core and intent behind it. For Danny, it seems like a love song, but throughout, there is a sense that it might have meant something else to Rick when they were originally writing it together. Meanwhile, whenever Danny shows a trace of an awakening consciousness regarding his lack of moral ethics, his manager (played by John Carney regular Jack Reynor) is there to insist he bury those feelings, that it would be a bad look if word got out he mostly stole the song from a wedding singer of all people. 

Nevertheless, with The Wedding Singer‘s DNA in its humor, the ensuing spiral eventually leads Rick Power (with Paul Rudd channeling some of that effortless charm into righteous anger) and his loyal bandmate, Sandy (Peter McDonald), to Los Angeles to confront Danny in person. Naturally, there are plenty of laughs along the way, all while the storytelling shifts into emotional territory, where it is no longer just about being cheated out of fame and fortune but about pursuing the truth and having that ambition and talent validated. For as much as Danny’s reasonings and justifications will make one want to punch him in the face, there is also some merit to his argument that no matter how good a piece of art is, it’s also about how it is packaged and who is putting it out there in the world.

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This might also sound like a film with predictable plotting, which is true, but only to an extent. Some characters are confoundingly shoved aside, others are entirely one-dimensional, and there are a number of contrivances here to set the conflict in motion, not to mention the occasional scene that is perhaps a bit too much (a car accident that is almost immediately brushed off and comes to feel unnecessary in hindsight, for example), but there are genuinely subversive qualities in how this story unfolds, where it goes, and where it ultimately ends up.

That is also what lends Power Ballad much of its power: it’s not about lingering and hammering home those emotional beats and reveals, but about tucking them away into something smaller and more minimalist that turns out to be much more moving and sincere. 

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★

Robert Kojder

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

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Film Review: “The Devil Wears Prada 2”

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Film Review: “The Devil Wears Prada 2”

Hello, dear reader! Do you like what you read here at Omnivorous? Do you like reading fun but insightful takes on all things pop culture? Do you like supporting indie writers? If so, then please consider becoming a subscriber and get the newsletter delivered straight to your inbox. There are a number of paid options, but you can also sign up for free! Every little bit helps. Thanks for reading and now, on with the show!

Warning: Full spoilers for the film follow.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m as sick of sequels as many other people. Every so often, however, one comes along that manages to not only match its predecessor’s energy but also manages to equal it, that strides across the screen with such panache and style that you find yourself absolutely captivated.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 is one such film.

Now, I’ll admit that I was more than a little skeptical when I found out there was going to be a sequel to a film that was released back in the halcyon days when one-and-done was more the norm than the exception. However, given the fact that the film managed to pull together the same gang–including director David Frankel–I figured it was at least giving it a shot. I’m certainly glad I did. The film made me laugh more than I ever expected and, more than that, it held me spellbound, drawing me back into this world of high fashion and high ideals and delicious bitchery. It was everything I wanted, and perhaps a little bit more.

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When the story opens, our beloved Andy has been working as a successful journalist and is poised to receive a prestigious award; unfortunately, her victory is spoiled by the announcement that she, along with her colleagues, have been laid off. All is not lost, however, and she’s soon brought on to help head up the features department at Runway, where she once again finds herself desperately seeking approval from Miranda Priestly, who resents having this young woman thrust upon her. As the film proves, however, the two women have far more in common than either of them might think, and they have to work together to save Runway and perhaps journalism itself.

To say that Meryl Streep devours this role would be a bit of an understatement. Obviously Streep has had many, many, many great roles during her long and storied career, but for my money Miranda Priestly will always be my favorite. To begin with, there’s the fact that she’s fucking gorgeous, with her shock of white hair, her immaculate outfits, and her way of commanding every eye in a room. However, it’s not just her looks; Miranda has depth and genuine emotional investments, even though these might not always be obvious to the people in her orbit. She might be demanding and imperious and at times downright callous, but the thing is that she genuinely believes in what she preaches. She believes in human beauty and achievement, and she’s willing to go to great lengths to celebrate those things, and if you can’t keep up with her, or if you’re not as invested in them as she is, then that’s a you problem.

For her part, Hathaway is reliably bubbly and effervescent as Andy, a woman who has gone from being a wide-eyed neophyte to a highly-respected and passionate journalist. The brilliance of Hathaway’s performance lies in her ability to capture so many different elements of Andy’s character. She is, at once, still the same wide-eyed and somewhat naive woman she was when she was in her 20s and also someone who believes fiercely and passionately in journalism and what it means to American society and culture writ large. Maybe it’s just the millennial in me, but I adore both Hathaway and this character. They both remind us that millennials, for all that the general culture and our elders (and our juniors!) like to mock us, really do believe in things and, just as importantly, we believe they’re worth fighting for.

The mark of a truly great film–and, for that matter, sequel–is its ability to imbue even its supporting characters with their own arcs and their own emotional stakes. In that respect, too, The Devil Wears Prada 2 succeeds, in that it gives both Tucci’s Nigel and Blunt’s Emily their own journeys. For Nigel, this revolves around his desire to be more than just Miranda’s second-in-command. One can easily see why a man of his obvious taste and skill would want something more, and Tucci imbues him with just enough vulnerability that you can see his desire flicker of his eyes. He also has his fair share of softer moments, and I love the chemistry between Hathaway and Tucci.

In some ways, Emily’s story has been even more tragic than Nigel’s, if no less a result of Miranda, who essentially pushed her out of Runway because of her belief that she lacked the creative vision to really flourish there. Blunt, of course, is absolutely in her element, and though she’s as sharp-tongued as ever, there’s still enough human warmth behind her crisp delivery to allow us to see her as more than just a villain. She is, instead, someone with her own struggles and failures and motivations and, to be quite honest, she’s a delight.

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Indeed, if anyone can be said to be the villain of this film, it would have to be the tech overlords–so perfectly embodied by Justin Theroux and B.J. Novak–who play their respective billionaires with just the right amount of preening idiocy and suave corporate ruthlessness. They care about nothing and no one but themselves and making sure they get as much money as they can before they destroy the very institutions they control. And, though some have sneered at the film’s commentary about the state of journalism and the ongoing corporate takeover and hollowing out of our cultural life and institutions, I actually think that’s precisely what gives the film its texture, its depth, and its bite. Because Miranda and Andy–and Nigel, and even Emily, in her own twisted way–care about beauty and fashion and human achievement, and because they’re performed with such depth and emotional authenticity by the film’s stars, we come to care about these things, too.

Even if every other aspect of this film had failed, I still would’ve enjoyed and praised the extent to which it highlights the importance of friendship and bonds and respect between and among women. Though Miranda is at first as dismissive of Andy as she was 20 years ago–in large part, one suspects, because Andy has been foisted on her by her corporate master–she gradually gains a grudging respect One of the most poignant scenes, however, belongs to Emily and Andy, who share one last scene together, forging a friendship they should have had years before but which they both clearly need. Sometimes, when you get down to it, all you really need to thrive is a good friend and a basket of fries.

Look, if this is what millennial nostalgia is going to look and feel like when it comes to the movies, we could do a whole lot worse than The Devil Wears Prada 2. This is a sequel that actually has some things to say but that doesn’t lose sight of the fact that its primary purpose is to entertain and delight us. Fortunately for all of us, it manages to do both. What a remarkable gift!

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Movie Reviews

MOVIE REVIEW: Cryptid Terror Meets Slasher-style Suspense In “THE YETI” – Rue Morgue

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MOVIE REVIEW: Cryptid Terror Meets Slasher-style Suspense In “THE YETI” – Rue Morgue

By BREANNA WHIPPLE

Starring Brittany Allen, Christina Bennett Lind and Linc Hand
Written and Directed by Gene Gallerano and William Pisciotta
Well Go USA Entertainment 

If you have a soft spot for the striking contrast of blood and snow, THE YETI from filmmakers Gene Gallerano and William Pisciotta is not to be missed. Set just a couple of years after the end of World War II, THE YETI follows an unlikely group as they set out to rescue two men who have vanished in the Alaskan wilderness. However, unknown to them, an ancient beast stalks the woods, feeding on the entrails of those unfortunate enough to cross its path. An abundance of gore and grisliness ensues immediately, sure to warm the hearts of beast-horror heathens. 

In general, cryptid movies come in two varieties: scary and silly. For some reason, comic relief cannot be left out of the equation when it comes to these legendary creatures. For example, Night of the Demon (1983) has a frightening conclusion that features Sasquatch wreaking havoc on an isolated cabin. Yet, earlier on in the film, he rips a motorcyclist’s “appendage” off when he stops on the side of the road to relieve himself. There is always some sort of goofy catch that can detract from the scare factor. Sure, THE YETI has funny moments, but they arrive in the exaggerated archetypes of the outlandish characters. Not a single aspect suffers from a lack of seriousness despite the comedic elements.

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 Leaning into the era absolutely works in this case, too. It feels like an examination of American propaganda above all else, but it also commits to the aesthetics and generalized insanity of the atomic age. It carries a vibe not dissimilar to the adventures found in great American novels, while presenting visuals that evoke the colourful romanticism of pulp fiction. Though the creature is always the most important element of monster movies, it is also worth noting that the characters are quite dynamic and keep the film entertaining whe its not on screen. 

The pacing is fantastic. Not a moment of screen time is wasted, and it advances as any good beast-film should. THE YETI works like Jaws (1975) and Grizzly (1976) in that it feels like a slasher film more than anything else. Like slashers, it doesn’t skimp on the gore, either – and the gore looks good! The creature design is also worth complimenting. It is beautiful to see an entire team behind the creature in these days of AI slop. Encounters with the creature are never safe, either; Each feels a little akin to the bear mauling scene in The Revenant (2015). 

With the recent success of the Fallout (2024-) series, the arrival of THE YETI is kismet. Cinema is a form of escapism, one that can come in many shapes and sizes. And with the state of the world right now, we need it more than ever. With its comic book atmosphere, quick pacing, beautifully crafted creature and fantastically written story, THE YETI makes for one hell of a fun getaway.

THE YETI is now streaming on major digital platforms.

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