“Sauna” begins exactly where you might expect. Men writhe and moan in the shadows, out of sight, while a young gay man walks through the darkened room of Adonis, Copenhagen's only gay sauna. It turns out he works there, but he's free to enjoy all the perks his workplace offers. You can't sleep on the job, but sleeping with anyone is fine. Although that position (and the many others he finds himself in) sounds much better than your average office job, Johan isn't satisfied.
One meaningless encounter after another has taken its toll on him, reflecting the emptiness so many young gay men face when their social life in a new city consists mostly of sex and very little else. However, the script, co-written by director Mathias Broe, doesn't condemn this. Like the book it's based on (by Danish author Mads Ananda Lodahl), “Sauna” explores this without prejudice, telling a relatable story for anyone familiar with the hypersexual world that can come with frequenting gay saunas.
Director: Mathias Broe
Writers: William Lippert, Mathias Broe, Mads Ananda Lodahl
Stars: Magnus Juhl Andersen, Nina Terese Rask, Dilan Amin
Small details, like scenes where Johan showers in the toilet or casually cleans up semen in the sauna, cement the film as distinctly queer in ways a straight filmmaker could never understand. You can practically smell the lube and poppers emanating from the screen. But "Sauna" isn't a simple gay festival drama, just as casual encounters aren't always as meaningless or empty as some might think. Johan is told early on that he "won't find any friends on Grindr," and it's true, but what he does find is an even deeper connection that reframes his understanding of love and gender beyond his experience as a cis white gay man.
"Sauna" begins right where you'd expect. Men writhe and moan in the shadows, out of sight, as a young gay man walks through the darkened room of Adonis, Copenhagen's only gay sauna. It turns out he works there, but he's free to enjoy all the perks his workplace offers. You can't sleep at work, but sleeping around is fine. Although that position (and the many others he holds) sounds much better than your average office job, Johan isn't satisfied.
One meaningless encounter after another has taken its toll, reflecting the emptiness so many young gay men face when their social life in a new city consists primarily of sex and very little else. However, the script, co-written by director Mathias Broe, doesn't condemn this. Like the book it's based on (by Danish author Mads Ananda Lodahl), "Sauna" explores this without judgment, telling a story relatable to anyone familiar with the hypersexual world that frequenting gay saunas can entail.
Small details, like the scenes where Johan showers in the toilet or cleans up semen in the sauna, reinforce the film's queer identity in ways a straight filmmaker could never understand. You can practically smell the lube and poppers emanating from the screen. But "Sauna" isn't just another typical gay festival drama, just as the casual encounters aren't always as insignificant or empty as some might think. Johan is told early on that he "won't find any friends on Grindr," and it's true, but what he does find is an even deeper connection that reframes his understanding of love and gender beyond his experience as a cis, white gay man.
It all starts innocently enough with a chance encounter at Johan's apartment. The man who visits is shy at first, sitting on the opposite couch in his coat, even after sharing a beer. Johan repeats his usual routine to help William relax, and they soon start kissing. But when Johan's hands, groping William's chest, he pushes him away. "Are you...?" Johan asks, realizing that William could be a trans man. "I've never been with a trans man," he says somewhat naively. "Maybe you should have read my profile," William retorts, ready to leave.
But Johan overcomes that initial awkwardness and asks William to stay anyway. Thus begins what Broe describes in the press release as a "reverse Romeo and Juliet," where a story of forbidden love evolves into a love letter to the queer community in general and chosen family in particular.
It's in these intimate moments that "Sauna" resonates most strongly, whether the couple in question holds hands the next morning or maintains eye contact while Johan performs oral sex on William. Broe's debut is not only the first Danish film to follow a trans protagonist, but it's perhaps the first to show Testogel (testosterone in a tube) being lovingly and even sensually applied by one lover to another. William later thanks Johan for the gift of a strap-on dildo—"That's so good!"—which we then see in action.
In an era where transphobia thrives even within the LGBTQ+ community, scenes like this speak to a more inclusive and loving reality between cis and trans lovers that's almost never depicted onscreen. This is vital within the context of the story and beyond, but Broe's camerawork doesn't overly romanticize sex. It's sensual and passionate, but also awkward and clumsy at times. Through deeply immersive close-ups, we watch Johan use a pillow to prop his butt up while William lubricates the dildo with extremely authentic, yet unsensual, wet noises. (Further proof that no one films a queer sex scene like a queer filmmaker.)
However, "Sauna" doesn't shy away from the more challenging realities a trans character like William would face. In a key moment early in their courtship, Johan brings his new lover to Adonis, assuring him that everything will be okay. Broe's script guides us through every step, from changing in the locker room to finding a private room to enjoy. William uses a towel to change while Johan undresses, and remains self-conscious even in his T-shirt in the sauna. It's not until they find a safe space alone that William begins to relax, only to be kicked out shortly after by the sauna's transphobic owner. In moments like this, Broe's script (co-written with William Lippert) deftly navigates a comprehensive trans story arc that encompasses both the positive and the negative without leaning too heavily on one or the other. These ups and downs are woven throughout the central relationship on which the film is based, as their feelings fluctuate with each new development. The chemistry between the two leads feels rooted in something real, whether they're tentatively exploring each other's world or shattering their shared world with outbursts, and even worse, indifference.
Magnus Juhl Andersen and Nina Rask channel this intense dynamic effortlessly—it's hard to imagine the film working so well without them—though I initially wondered why "Sauna" prioritizes Johan's cis perspective over William's trans one. However, it turns out that this particular love story reflects Broe's own personal experience, as her partner began his transition during the early stages of the film's development. It makes sense, then, that “Sauna” is told through a representative of his, rather than a trans character outside his own worldview.
Would the story be more interesting from William's perspective? Perhaps. But Johan's perspective in this case is also quite unique within the current canon of queer cinema, and it's important to note that the film's trans elements are handled sensitively without losing sight of William or relegating his side of the story to the background.
“Sauna” may not end the way one would hope or even wish, but that's how love is sometimes. And while it operates on a very different plane than more radical trans works like “The People's Joker” or “I Saw the TV Glow,” Broe's work in this case complements a new wave of queer cinema that speaks authentically to the trans experience, offering a unique yet relevant love story that addresses the complexities of queer desire with nuance and compassion.
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