From 2015’s The Witch and his 2019 follow-up, The Lighthouse, Robert Eggers reminds us that tradition and identity rarely exist in harmony, even across centuries. With The Northman, the director applies this notion to a millennium and region movies rarely visit: 10th-century Denmark, the birthplace of the Vikings.
The Northman is also Eggers’ most direct adaptation, as it draws from the Icelandic legend of Amleth, the basis for Shakespeare’s Hamlet. This is significantly more on the nose than his feature-length debut, The Witch, which is loosely inspired by the work of Washington Irving and other classic American literature.
Yet despite how overt The Northman’s inspiration is, Eggers seems to stretch his storytelling legs even more. The film sustains an ideal balance between its imagery, historical accuracy and tone, while still crafting a clear, timeless message with enough nuance to beg even bigger questions than he has before.
Granted, the film’s method of answering these questions is far more brutal, bloodier and fantastical than the more subdued delivery of Eggers’ previous efforts. After all, the vengeance-coated ladder to Valhalla isn’t exactly pleasant. And for The Northman’s wayward hero, the ascent might not even be worth it.
Birth of a berserker
As King Aurvandill War-Raven (Ethan Hawke) returns his kingdom after a successful conquest, he’s greeted by his queen, Gudrún (Nicole Kidman), and their young son, Amleth (Oscar Novak). After a night of revelry is interrupted by the arrival of the king’s brother, Fjölnir (Claes Bang), the king decides to finally show Amleth the root of their fatalistic way of life.
It’s here The Northman reveals the first of many visually-striking sequences. The king and Amleth are asked by the kingdom’s resident jackass and sage, Heimir (Willem Dafoe), if the two are even men, or just dogs. Howling, belching and, of course, farting fueled by two hearty bowls of hallucinogenic mead allow the father and son to see the threads of fate that bind them.
As they’re leaving, Amleth’s part in his family legacy becomes clear: His father is murdered by Fjölnir, and Amleth escapes the coup with the nose of one of his uncle’s warriors, the first violent act of many, many more. The child prince rows away from his stolen kingdom, promising:
“I will avenge you, father. I will save you, mother. I will kill you, Fjölnir.”
Egger’s control over this sequence is undeniable, but the influence of his co-writer — Sjón, who wrote 2021’s Lamb — can’t be understated. There’s a sense of reverence and magic that doesn’t seem to be a typical hallmark of Eggers, despite the nature of his previous films. That’s not to say they’re worse for fostering an air of mystery, but by revealing more, The Northman seems to champion a greater sense of curiosity.
Tenuous destiny
By the time we’re introduced to the adult Amleth (Alexander Skarsgård), his childlike whimsy has been replaced with an unrelenting compulsion to kill. After one single shot of a village raid that carries the same energy as Hard Boiled’s hospital shootout crossed with Techno Viking, Eggers encapsulates Amleth’s struggle. The protagonist stares blankly into the horizon, detached from the post-battle fervor his fellow berserkers relish.
He’s bombarded at every corner by the emptiness of his actions. Likewise, he’s haunted by a blind seeress (Björk) provoking him to fulfill his destiny. Amleth catches wind of a disgraced king who apparently murdered his brother for no real political gain, and sneaks upon a slaver’s ship heading that way, confident he’ll cross paths with his conniving uncle.
But this commitment to revenge isn’t without doubt. In fact, as soon as Amleth climbs aboard the ship, he’s met with his first distraction, the sorceress Olga (Anya Taylor-Joy). Shortly after the slave ship arrives in Denmark, we see a tender, empathetic moment between Amleth’s uncle and his younger half-brother. The Northman rarely misses a beat with its action, but it’s these brief pauses that keep the film from feeling gratuitous and senseless.
In one scene, Amleth sneaks into a cottage at night to butcher his uncle’s men. Afterward, he saves his uncle’s son from being bludgeoned to death during a game of Viking lacrosse. He’s both sought after as a merciless demon and heralded as a hero. Meanwhile, Amleth grows uncertain which path is righteous, especially as he comes to terms with his misremembered childhood.
Ultimately, there’s no move Amleth makes that isn’t mired in doubt.
A self-fulfilling fate
As cruel as the cosmos can be, there’s only one person truly perpetuating Amleth’s suffering: himself.
On the verge of death, Olga carries Amleth back to the coast where the two first arrived. And in another ethereal sequence, Olga transforms into a valkyrie, soaring on horseback into the moon’s glow. For all intents and purposes, this is Amleth’s ascent into Valhalla. He survived a near-fatal encounter and is free to rid himself of his toxic quest.
Yet this isn’t enough for Amleth. Even though he had to adjust his destiny multiple times — such as when he discovered his mother played a role in his father’s death — he can’t shake his bloodlust. A life with Olga and two unborn children isn’t enough. An addiction to violence has overtaken him, and its clutch is tragically tight.
Normalcy and peace, though nice to fawn over, were never real options for Amleth. While Olga begs him to sail away with her, the potential threat of his uncle seeking revenge — similar to what Amleth’s done throughout the film — has to be resolved with even more violence.
Eggers is reluctant to make a definitive statement about this choice. It’s not far off from Tomasin’s resolve in The Witch, though her decision is arguably justified. Unlike Tomasin, however, Amleth’s choice is agonizing, even more so as we see him undo nearly every one of his heroic actions.
But this is the nature of violence — cold, misanthropic and cosmically justified, if at all. The Northman is a staunch reminder of this principle. After all, when one’s baptized by brutality like Amleth, their chances to return are almost certain.
