Families Like Ours is a drama, directed and co-written by Oscar-winning Danish director Thomas Vinterberg, that poses the question: what would you do if your luck ran out? The kind that would lead you to be born with a healthy body, or in a privileged, developed country, or with a skin color that didn't invite discrimination. Perhaps even all of the above. What if life as you knew it—stable, easy, reliable, and comfortable—were turned upside down? What would happen then?
The seven-part series is set in Denmark in the near future, where the Dutch economy has recently collapsed, flooding the Netherlands' neighboring countries with job-seeking immigrants, consuming capacity and goodwill. Thus, there is little left of either option when the government announces that the threat posed by global warming and rising sea levels to Denmark is the total evacuation of its six million inhabitants. The country is, in effect, being shut down.
Stars: Amaryllis April Maltha August, Albert Rudbeck Lindhardt, Nikolaj Lie Kaas
Thus, Vinterberg takes what most of us consider an existential threat, a problem too big and terrifying to even think about, and presents it in a more manageable framework. Shrinking it even further and making it more powerful, we follow a handful of characters through the decisions they are forced to make as mass displacement begins.
Some know of the government's announcement in advance and use it—illegally, but who wouldn't? is the first question we ask ourselves—to liquidate assets before the market crashes and withdraw cash savings before restrictions are imposed. Among them is Nikolaj (Esben Smed), a government employee, who informs his husband, Henrik (Magnus Millang), and his sister Amalie (Helene Reingaard Neumann).
Henrik's volatile and homophobic brother, Peter (David Dencik), also receives the tip-off, and it is from him that most of the violent incidents, which Vinterberg's naturalistic approach otherwise avoids, originate. At times, one wonders if it avoids them too much. There are reports of social unrest, but so little of it is on screen that one wonders if the drama couldn't afford to ramp up the tension a bit more. There's so much talk about the necessary documents, the visas to apply for, the permits to obtain, and so many scenes with ruthless bureaucrats that one might reach the end of the first few episodes feeling like they have a better idea of how to organize a national exodus than how it would actually feel to be involved in one.
The other characters we follow include Amalie's husband, Jacob (Nikolaj Lie Kaas), an architect who manages to use his connections to get his family a coveted route to France. But his daughter Laura (Amaryllis August), from his first marriage, is torn between going with him (to take up his place at the Sorbonne) or going with her less wealthy and less connected mother, Fanny (Paprika Steen), to her state boarding school in Romania (it's possible Vinterberg has chosen to privilege some of his future refugees too much).
There's also a new boyfriend, Elias (Albert Rudbeck Lindhardt), who enters the fray and creates a "will first love ever break up?" subplot, which is given too much time for what it contributes to the series. More poignant is the decision of Christel (Asta Kamma August), the mother of talented nine-year-old footballer Lucas, who has been offered a place in England by football scouts but would have to leave without her. With borders closed and resettled Danes unable to travel, she would practically be saying goodbye to him forever.
Families Like Ours has been a hit with audiences and critics alike since its premiere at last year's Venice Film Festival. And there's much to admire. It doesn't preach, but rather develops themes through the characters, rather than the other way around (and has a cast packed with Danish heavyweights to complement it). But it all comes off a bit limp, a bit bloodless, like a thought experiment come to life rather than a compelling, provocative drama. The script is uninspiring, and the relentless stream of bad decisions the characters make—as if being privileged meant being not only thoughtless but also actively stupid—lends a slightly flagellant air to the film. A film to admire, perhaps, but not to love, and therefore a film whose message, if tried, can be resisted.
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