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Fragmented Lives: The Emotional Landscape of “Oslo, August 31st”

Joachim Trier’s Oslo, August 31st is an unflinching exploration of depression, addiction, and the weight of past choices. The film follows Anders, a recovering drug addict, as he spends a day in Oslo, revisiting old haunts and encountering people from his past. The story is set within a 24-hour period, but its psychological depth extends far beyond its timeframe.

The film captures the bleakness of existential despair. Anders is physically present, but emotionally detached, as if watching his life from the outside. The psychological struggle is in the tension between his desire to reintegrate into society and the overpowering feeling that he’s irreversibly damaged. He’s haunted by past mistakes, and even as he moves through the city, the memories of his addiction and the relationships he has destroyed shadow his every interaction.

The film mirrors Anders’ internal turmoil through its visual and auditory design. The muted colour palette of the city underscores his emotional numbness, while the conversations he has with friends, who are now settled into their lives, highlight his sense of alienation. Every scene seems to pulse with a quiet, unspoken dread—a reflection of Anders’ own inability to articulate his emotional devastation.

Oslo, August 31st tackles themes of shame, hopelessness, and the paralysis that often comes with depression. Anders’ sense of failure and self-loathing is palpable, especially in moments of solitude when he’s left alone with his thoughts. His conversations reveal a longing for redemption, but also a deep scepticism that it is possible.

From Idyllic to Horrific: The Uncanny in Viy (1967)

Viy (1967), directed by Konstantin Ershov and Georgiy Kropachyov, is an engrossing adaptation of Nikolai Gogol’s eponymous horror novella. This Soviet-era cinematic gem reveals a tale of terror, folklore, and the uncanny in a rural place that becomes a liminal space of dread as the uncanny motif resurfaces through the dichotomous tension between the known and the unfamiliar, between the seemingly idyllic rural setting and the unsettling supernatural elements that inhabit it. The familiar shifts into something terrifying as the character of the witch, Pannochka, an embodiment and manifestation of the uncanny, oscillates in appearance, morphing from the archetypal fairytale figure of the crone into a beautiful, ghostly young woman who summons demons, vampires, and Viy, a horrifying creature.

Delving into the intersection of the familiar and the strange, the natural and the supernatural, the film’s disturbing visuals—like the summoning of demons, the witch’s flight, and the final ghastly revelation of Viy—juxtapose the mundane rural setting with the phantasmagoric. The uncanny is also present through the motif of repetition, the return of the repressed, the shift from the familiar to the alien, the tension between the two different states: idyllic bliss and the state of unsettling anxiety, unease, and ambiguity associated with supernatural occurrences.