The Promised Land
In selected cinemas from 16th February
The latest feature from Nikolaj Arcel, which reunites him with his A Royal Affair collaborator Mads Mikkelsen, is difficult to assess on account of its tonal polarity. Despite its frequent bloodshed (which goes as far as to see one character have his manhood violently removed), The Promised Land is essentially a tale of two bloody-minded men that find themselves entrenched in a land dispute.
Its screenplay, written by Arcel and Anders Thomas Jensen and adapted from a novel by Ida Jessen, uses that seemingly mundane premise to weave an allegory of class warfare, male ego, and finding one’s purpose. Mikkelsen is typically excellent in the lead role of Captain Ludvig Kahlen, a retired army officer who is determined to cultivate a notorious moorland so that he may be bestowed with a noble title and escape his lowly social status. Standing in his way is Simon Bennebjerg’s repugnant landowner, who insists that, despite evidence to the contrary, the land Kahlen seeks to renovate is his own. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a cinematic villain as wicked as this one, with Bennebjerg in dastardly form throughout.
As is often the case with these sorts of conflicts, both men wind up losing more than they gain, with the film’s moral compass unsurprisingly coming from two of its female characters. Amanda Collin is effectively intense as an escaped serf who finds solace on Kahlen’s settlement alongside the fledgling Melina Hagberg’s Romani traveller. While their male counterparts continue on their senseless game of tit for tat, these women gradually grow in agency and become the characters the audience is implored to root for, despite the stark realism of The Promised Land meaning a happy ending is unlikely for either.
Indeed, Arcel never seems inclined to conclude his story in a way that will satisfy viewers, instead electing for a decidedly more bleak, but sadly plausible, approach which complements the contemporary political landscape, despite its historical setting. One might even argue that, above all else, The Promised Land is a celebration of nature (as evidenced by Rasmus Videbæk’s stunning landscapes) and its continued perseverance, despite our best efforts to taint it by moulding it into our own image.
