When I first saw the melancholy, elegant and utterly winning film of Joachim Trier, I decided that it was a tribute to people who do not want to have children, and who therefore have the task of understanding what their life will mean. Because, I suppose, I wanted to see it that way. Later, I talked to friends and colleagues who thought the film was, instead, about the trivial agonies of 30 years, about the unbridgeable chasms of heterosexual mating, about the malaise of Millennials. The thrill of Trier’s masterpiece is that it is all of these things, and almost certainly so much more.
With the bright Renate Reinsve center – as Julie, a woman bouncing around Oslo in her early adulthood, unsure where she should land – The worst person in the world it is a treasure trove of insights and observations. Is Julie a selfish and careless mess? Is he, in fact, the worst person in the world? Or, at least, one of the worst? These childhood and adult solipsism questions might seem airy, subtle, well covered by a host of other films. But Trier has more in mind than just floating in their thirties.
As his film moves towards its crushing and exhilarating end, let’s see what all this questioning about the future really is for – and all the yearning for the past, both resentful and nostalgic. The worst person in the world it concerns, at its root, the most annoying and essential thing: the present tense. Which, as Trier powerfully suggests in his film’s alluring final scenes, is the only time we really have.
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