“Haugerud has crafted a series of films that is perhaps the antidote to Richard Linklater’s overly romantic Before trilogy, a more inspiring and grounded look at how to approach relationships and sex than the idealized dream of what love should be.”

Let’s talk about sex. Norwegian helmer Dag Johan Haugerud took the words from an old Salt-N-Pepa banger to heart, and created a trilogy full of people who more or less just do that: discuss their sexual encounters, queer or otherwise outré, in a frank and non-judgemental, open way. In the space of just twelve months Haugerud released three films that catapulted the librarian and novelist, but also screenwriter and director, from someone primarily known for his 2019 Venice sidebar entry Beware of Children to a threefold-winner in last year’s Berlin Panorama section (Sex), Venice Competition hopeful (Love), and Berlinale alumnus (but this time in the Competition) with Dreams, the conclusion of his trilogy.

It is not hard to see why the 60-year-old Haugerud’s star is suddenly rising fast. The richness of all three films, both in their writing (where his novelist background shines through) and in their texture, where he uses Norway’s capital Oslo almost as a character of its own, envelops this complex tapestry of people that he has woven throughout his films. The primary cast for his final entry is reduced back to four (as in Sex), but each one of them is so filled with detail and embodies a range of traits that establish them as fully realized characters. This is the strength of Haugerud’s writing, with his evocative language, not just in written dialogue but also in visual aesthetic and simple but effective mise-en-scene. Each film is talkative, almost deceptively so, but has enough visual cues and sly use of music to underline the emotionality of the story.

Whereas his previous outing Love had only the loose structure of a story to hang onto, Dreams has a proper narrative. It tells a story of first love, with teenage girl Johanne (a wonderful Ella Øverbye) being the one to fall head-over-heels. The object of her desire is Johanna (Selome Emnetu), her new French teacher, a free-spirited textile artist with a worldly history. Just the sight of Johanna’s sweater touching her skin gets Johanne’s pulse racing, but it takes some time before she musters up enough courage to make the trek across town to her teacher’s apartment, where she manages to be welcomed under false pretenses. When Johanna offers to teach her to knit, Johanne grabs the opportunity with both hands, and a strong bond forms between teacher and pupil. Will it cross a border though?

As with most teen infatuations, the bond between Johanne and Johanna is broken. To get it off her chest, Johanne decides to write down the story of their relationship, inspired by reading a romance novel in which a young girl falls for the charms of an older man (Janine Boissard’s L’esprit de famille). Not really knowing what to do with her feelings now that she has poured her heart out, she lets her grandmother Karin (Anne Marit Jacobsen), a published poet, read the story. Karin is impressed with the literary qualities, but also taken aback by the frankness with which Johanne has described the more intimate details of the relationship. She urges Johanne to let her mother Kristin (Ane Dahl Torp) read it as well, and after some nudging Johanne allows Kristin access to her soul-baring work. After the initial shock, both of the older women come to the conclusion that Johanne is a talented writer, and that her story is a liberating feminist screed for younger women. Once Karin lets her publisher read the work the story starts to take on a life of its own. Is this still Johanne’s story, or is it becoming something bigger? And more importantly, where is the line between truth and fiction?

Haugerud decides to tell the story not in chronological order, and deliberately disorients the viewer by presenting the young girl as a possible unreliable narrator, one of the film’s strongest aspects; much of the film is told through Johanne’s voice over, but it is unclear whether this is from her novella or from a conversation with a psychologist late in the film, or perhaps simply Johanne’s musings directly meant for the audience. This constantly shifts perspective on her story, in which she could be an archetypical teen in love swooning over an older woman or an archetypical teen in love with too big an imagination. But the story itself also shifts the characters; it started as a personal story, but after reading it the two older generations start to reflect on their own history with love and sex. Grandma laments the missed opportunities for a richer sex life (though by the way she talks about it, it was rich enough as it is). Kristin thinks about her own first spell with love, and thinks back on watching Flashdance for the first time as a young woman (resulting in a hilarious discussion between the two women about the merits of Adrian Lyne’s 1983 classic; did it reenforce sexist stereotypes or was it a feminist story about upward mobility?).

As with the previous films, the cast all deliver stellar work. Øverbye, reconnecting with Haugerud after Beware of Children, is perfect as the enigmatic center of the story whose intentions and words are perhaps not to be trusted. It’s hard to get a read on Johanne, which comes down to Øverbye’s poker face as an actress when the scene calls for it. Dahl Torp and especially Jacobsen are a hoot as the bickering mother and daughter, but also convey (grand)motherly love in their scenes alone with deeply convincing aplomb. Emnetu’s natural performance as the unwitting object of desire adds warmth to the film, although the light in which Haugerud bathes her apartment (as seen through the eyes of Johanne) and her woolen sweaters surely help.

In an interview with Screen Daily while working on both Love and Dreams, Haugerud said he was fascinated by the idea that most people dream that sex should be the result of love. He wanted to deconstruct that idea, because it seemed to him that while Western society views itself as liberated when it comes to sex, people still find it very hard to talk about it, especially when their sexual encounters fall outside of the norm. With this trilogy of films he has opened up a conversation and perhaps lowered barriers for people to indeed discuss their sex lives more openly. All three concepts (dreams, sex, and love) are woven throughout his films: Sex features dreams about sexual encounters with David Bowie, Love mostly deals with casual sex, and one of Dreams‘ main themes is young love. These three concepts are interconnected, and Haugerud has crafted a series of films that is perhaps the antidote to Richard Linklater’s overly romantic Before trilogy, a more inspiring and grounded look at how to approach relationships and sex than the idealized dream of what love should be.

Image copyright: Agnete Brun