‘You’re Right, I Am Exorcising Something’

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Sentimental Value, the newest film by Joachim Trier, received amazing reviews and won the Grand Prix at Cannes earlier this year. Its premiere at the New York Film Festival this week was highly anticipated. This is Trier’s sixth feature film, and like his previous five, it was co-written with Eskil Vogt. The film continues his exploration of the complex details within human connections, and many believe it’s his best work so far. It’s a subtle yet powerful and often humorous story about two sisters and their estranged father. Nora (Renate Reinsve, who has worked with Trier often) and Agnes Borg (a fantastic debut performance by Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas) are grieving their mother’s recent passing when Gustav (Stellan Skarsgård) unexpectedly returns. A well-known director who left after his divorce, Gustav is as charismatic as he is unaware of others’ feelings. Early on, he tells Nora, an actress, that he’s written a screenplay for her and wants her to star in it, even though they don’t have a close father-daughter bond. She’s understandably offended, feels like he’s exploiting her, and rejects the offer. Then, Gustav happens to meet a famous Hollywood actress, Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning), who is a fan and eager to take on Nora’s role, without fully understanding the complicated situation.

Trier creates a compelling and emotionally resonant depiction of a family struggling across different eras, exploring their complex history through the lens of a family home that’s been passed down for generations. This house holds a tragic past – a matriarch died by suicide there – and serves as the setting for Gustav’s new film in the present day. This film is deeply personal for Trier, written soon after he became a father, and he shares that he wanted to confront his own anxieties about potentially failing as a parent. I spoke with him right before the Sentimental Value premiere at NYFF to discuss whether, as his character Gustav asks, it’s possible to “write Ulysses while driving to soccer practice.”

Did you start writing this after you’d already become a father?
Yes, I did. I had a daughter already, and my writing partner, Eskil, and I decided we wanted to explore the relationship between two very different adult sisters. We wanted to see how they’d try to piece together their identities-Who are we?-especially with their mother gone and their father re-entering their lives. It was pretty amazing timing, actually. As I finished the script, my wife and I found out we were expecting another child, and our daughters would end up having the same age difference as the sisters in the film. It made me think, Wow, okay, now I have to make sure I tell a truthful tale of this father character. When we first started writing, I honestly didn’t have much sympathy for him, so we really needed to find a way to give him some humanity. That’s actually when I thought of reaching out to Stellan Skarsgård.

What did you say when you met him?
I told him, “Hey, I really need to create a character that feels real and human.” He’s a very kind person, unlike his character Gustav Borg. I traveled to Sweden to meet him, and he took me to lunch at all the best restaurants. I’d actually met him years before at a birthday party for a Norwegian director, but I was too nervous to say hello – I was completely starstruck! So, over lunch, I started explaining the script, which was a lengthy and complex pitch covering the story’s themes and characters. He asked incredibly insightful questions. I quickly realized I couldn’t make this work without him. By the end of the lunch, I was practically pleading with him. I even used an American idiom: “If you don’t do this, I’m in a really difficult situation!” He just laughed and said, “What are you talking about? But yes, I’ll do it.”

What was he asking you?
He didn’t want to fall into the typical, predictable pattern. He didn’t want to be seen as simply a harsh father or an unpleasant person. Instead, he asked, “What are his reasons?” And that was the perfect question to ask. This man, despite appearing proud and self-absorbed, is actually someone who is hurting. He’s struggling with something that prevents him from expressing his feelings in the way his daughters need him to.

To what extent did writing this film feel like confronting your own anxieties about becoming a father?
I definitely think that played a role. It was about facing those fears, but transforming them into a narrative. There isn’t a straightforward purpose to creating stories, art, or movies, but it becomes clear they originate from personal experiences. Many have inquired about the autobiographical elements of this film, and honestly, there’s a certain liberation in having enough separation from it. This allows for creative freedom – you can portray your characters with either harshness or compassion, guided by the needs of the story, rather than feeling compelled to make a specific statement about real people. But you’re right, it *is* a process of confronting and releasing something personal.

Do you feel like you’ve dealt with your inner demons now? Do you think it will help you be a better dad?
I didn’t begin writing this story intending to portray a character like Gustav, as I come from a different generation and I’m more open with my feelings. Being emotionally available is really important to me, and I was raised that way too. My family is very good at communicating emotions. I’m here in New York, away from my children, but I’m working hard to minimize that. That’s why I’m juggling so many things at once and trying to get home as quickly as possible. [Laughs.] It’s also vital that this story isn’t just for people in the film industry. It’s for anyone who feels strongly about something, or who pursues their passions with dedication. Passion can be a source of growth and fulfillment, but it can also be a way to avoid dealing with yourself, a place to retreat.

There’s a line where Gustav says to his daughters, “You can’t write a masterpiece like Ulysses while juggling everyday tasks like driving to soccer practice.” Is he correct?
I don’t want to give a definitive answer! I believe he makes a good point. That’s the core challenge, really. However, we also have to be careful about the stories we tell ourselves about artists. To create truly original work, artists often need a degree of separation from conventional norms. I think it’s important to be able to honestly address challenging aspects of human behavior and avoid putting people on a pedestal. Yet, I also find inspiration for my films by being fully engaged in life and not distancing myself from it. So, part of me believes that constant interruptions and the busyness of daily life might prevent you from having the necessary time and space to fully immerse yourself in your art. But then again, maybe there’s a compelling story to be found in soccer practice itself. I’m torn. I don’t think it’s an either/or situation.

While watching the film again and considering these ideas, I realized that questions about balancing work and family are usually asked of female artists. It’s unusual to hear a male director discuss that kind of balance. I appreciate you mentioning it. It’s a sensitive topic because I want to acknowledge the unique experience of being a woman and a mother; I now understand how much it requires of women, particularly in the first year, and how physically demanding it is. That being said, my mother was a film director and later became a journalist because it was so challenging to juggle both. We haven’t fully reached that point yet, but we’re moving towards a place where people can be both human beings and filmmakers. And we men appreciate that progress as well.

Since my film Reprise, I’ve been looking at the vulnerable side of men. I believe society is starting to recognize this, but there’s also a strong pushback with overly masculine behavior. Because of this, it’s even *more* important to discuss these feelings and connect with our children. We need to prioritize being emotionally open and supportive. I recently read a fascinating book about psychological studies from the 80s and 90s that distinguished between “empathy” and “action empathy.” Boys were often taught to do something to fix a problem, instead of simply acknowledging and accepting emotions. A character in The Worst Person in the World explains it this way: “I share my feelings, and you offer solutions. I don’t *need* you to fix things.” My film Sentimental Value explores this dynamic in a parent-child relationship-Gustav, at a party, offers advice in a way that’s deeply hurtful to Nora, demonstrating this very issue. He’s only emotionally present when he’s working-he can connect with his actors, but he withdraws otherwise.

There’s a speech in the movie, written by Gustav for his screenplay, that both Renate and Elle read at different points. After hearing it, one of the sisters asks, “How did he know?” meaning how did Gustav manage to write something that felt so deeply connected to Nora’s experience? That made me reflect on your approach to writing female characters. It’s interesting that your first three films focus on young men, and then you shift to women with Thelma. Do you find you enjoy writing women more?
I think Thelma was a turning point for me because I was trying to move beyond my usual style. I wanted to experiment with a genre film, though it ultimately became a drama, which I was pleased about. I also wanted to create a character who was different from those I’d written before. Gender was definitely a key part of that, but it wasn’t the only factor. She also comes from a coastal, religious background, whereas I grew up in a city with an atheist family. I think the actors also played a role. Renate really changed how I approach storytelling, perhaps because I felt more comfortable with the open emotionality of those characters. It’s funny, because Renate originally auditioned for Thelma, to play Thelma’s girlfriend. She didn’t get the part because the chemistry wasn’t quite right and she was a bit older than the actress playing Thelma – Kaya Wilkins, who was fantastic. But I immediately recognized how talented Renate was, and that was a major inspiration for writing The Worst Person in the World.

It’s hard to say if it’s all just chance, or if there’s something more going on. Maybe you could share your thoughts.[Laughs.] I’m honestly a bit confused! Something definitely feels different. You’re right to point that out – I recognize it, but not fully. It’s like a thought just came to me: “Now it’s time to focus on the women.” You can’t always be in control, and that’s kind of the point. I’m here talking with you, trying to make sense of things and create a deliberate narrative, but it doesn’t always *feel* that way when I’m working. I also try to foster that feeling on set. I want the actors to experience something genuine and spontaneous, something that feels like real life, rather than just following a script.

That’s much more engaging. And it seems Renate guided you to this point, similar to before. Yes, Renate played a significant role in this, and I truly appreciate our collaboration. Initially, I envisioned the character of Nora. I saw a way to explore a facet of Renate’s experience without it being a direct retelling of her life story. For instance, Nora isn’t afraid of performing. She’s courageous. However, both of us sensed that the fear of performing-the anxiety of creation-was central to the creative process.

You often explore the theme of suicide in your films, and it’s prominent in this one as well. What interests you about that subject?
It’s a complex mix of things – personal experiences and thoughts about the bigger questions of life and meaning. It’s not necessarily how I feel personally; I’m really enjoying life, it’s just so brief! But the act of choosing suicide is both baffling and frightening to me. It can even seem like a reasonable, logical decision in some cases. I don’t delve into my personal life, but I’ve been close to it and understand it. We intentionally moved away from this theme after Louder Than Bombs; it wasn’t present in Worst Person in the World or Thelma. So, revisiting it here was a deliberate choice, alongside other connections to my previous work.

I spotted a dedication to Sten Egil Dahl, a character from the film *Reprise*, behind Gustav’s head while he was in a restaurant booth. I thought that was a clever little nod to our previous work.
Yeah, absolutely! And the film ends with a long, unbroken shot within the movie itself, which really reminded me of Oslo, August 31st. There are a few references to our earlier films in here, even if they don’t all perfectly fit the story.

Let’s discuss creating Elle Fanning’s character. You intentionally steer clear of typical, simplistic jokes or stereotypes about actresses.
Elle’s character is what really sets the story in motion. It’s reminiscent of a smaller-scale Vertigo – exploring the feeling of being slowly turned into a product, treated as an object, and used for someone else’s goals. Elle is portraying a very nuanced and complex individual. Consider the scene where she’s acting as if she’s crying, compared to when she genuinely cries with Gustav – can you appreciate the difference in her performance?

Yes, definitely. I was wondering if we, as the audience, are supposed to see her as a good performer, or if we’re meant to share his perspective on her performance – that it might be slightly unusual?
I honestly don’t know! People often ask me things like: “Is it a truly great performance, but he perceives something is wrong? Or is he touched by it? Or is he starting to regret his choices because, while she’s doing something captivating, it doesn’t quite fit the movie he envisioned?” I want the scene to be open to all those interpretations. I don’t want it to be straightforward.

Gustav secures funding from Netflix and additional financing for his movie by casting an American actor, but this requires him to compromise creatively, such as not being able to work with his usual team. You’ve often discussed your preference for working within the European film industry, where you maintain final cut and greater artistic control.
Let me be clear, I’m not trying to sound elitist. I feel the same way about shooting on 35-mm film – I work diligently and make compromises to achieve that. However, many young filmmakers are creating stunning visuals with digital technology, and they should absolutely pursue that! I feel similarly about Hollywood – I know fantastic films are being made there. But those films are often directed by auteurs who have earned the respect and freedom to realize their vision. Paul Thomas Anderson, a friend of mine, is a great example; I loved his latest film, which is a powerful, beautiful, and unconventional piece of cinema.

With that being said, maintaining final cut is important to me, and it’s a practice rooted in European filmmaking. It’s similar to how a music band operates – the more we collaborate on a film, the more successful it will be with audiences. That’s my goal: to find a balance where the film isn’t too experimental to find an audience, but also isn’t dependent on just having famous actors. The discussion around final cut can often be about control, but for me, it’s about earning the trust of the actors and respecting their commitment. I feel a responsibility to deliver on our shared vision. They bring a lot of personal experiences and make sacrifices – time away from loved ones, and delving into difficult emotional territory – for the sake of the film. Renate and I were both very moved on the last day of shooting. We were applauding her, and I told her, “Thank you for embodying Nora. I know how challenging it was.” It’s a demanding experience to live with a role for months. She cried and said, “I’m thankful for the opportunity, but I’m also relieved it’s finished.” And she trusts me to treat that sensitive material with care. Ultimately, it’s a creative conversation for me.

Has Hollywood ever tried to get you involved in projects?
I’ve worked with some really talented people, like Neon – they’ve been fantastic. But I realized, after making Reprise, that I need to be involved with Eskil and my own writing. I used to have an agent and would meet a lot of smart people, and they’d send me scripts, but I just didn’t feel a connection to them. That’s when I understood I needed to write my own films. I’m really happy with this process because I love writing. Being in a room with Eskil and brainstorming – “Let’s have a single-take shot from a train window with a child running towards the camera” – and then actually getting it financed and having to figure out how to make it happen… that’s what I enjoy. Why would I bring someone else’s vision to life when I can be up all night, excited about an idea, thinking, Yes, this is how it should be!

Have you ever considered different paths for your career, or passed on opportunities?
I’ve definitely been offered some really exciting projects with talented actors, which was very appealing. But I might be a bit old-fashioned; I’ve never agreed to work on something just for the money if I didn’t genuinely plan to follow through. I’m a little superstitious. [Knocks on the chair.] Eskil and I have co-written six screenplays, and I’ve directed six of them. I don’t have any unfinished projects sitting around. It might take a long time, but I always see things through. I believe in fully developing one film at a time, giving it all my focus. I don’t have a strategic approach to juggling multiple projects. I’m sure there’s a universe where I’m wealthier. [Laughs.] But I’m happy with where I am now.

Have you never faced difficulties securing funding within the European film industry?
The European system generally supports what’s often called auteur cinema, though there have been challenges. Louder Than Bombs, for example, took years to come together and was quite complex to finance. However, you establish a loyal audience, much like a band does, and when people go to see your films in theaters, investors get a return on their investment, allowing you to make another one. As long as that cycle continues, I’m satisfied. That’s also how America can be at its best – filmmakers like Sean Baker, Paul Thomas Anderson, and Mike Mills. This was the standard in America during the 1970s – what people admired about American cinema. Perhaps studios simply need to rethink their approach to filmmakers. The way Paul is collaborating with Warner Bros. seems like a promising direction.

Your film, *The Worst Person in the World*, was a big international success. Did that create more, or a different kind of, pressure when you started working on your next project?
Yeah, I always feel a lot of pressure when I begin a new film. Eskil and I tend to get really anxious at the start. We think, “We’re going to mess this up. People liked the last one, and they probably won’t like this one.” But we eventually push through that and remind ourselves, “We have to make this film for ourselves.” Sentimental Value wasn’t made to please anyone else; we just wanted to explore these ideas and see if they resonated. My goal is to have honest, personal conversations through movies. People often share their family stories with me, and it seems like there’s a real desire for those kinds of close, human stories in film. The world feels pretty cynical and focused on technology right now. So, personally, I’m really craving connection and genuine reconciliation.

I was struck by something you said at Cannes – “Tenderness is the new punk.” Could you discuss how making this film differed from your previous work, particularly in terms of its tone and approach?
This time, I felt most courageous by choosing sincerity over cynicism. It was about going acoustic instead of electric, so to speak. Let me elaborate on that Cannes statement. When I was younger, I used to skateboard illegally, and I thought adults were foolish. I didn’t trust the system because it didn’t seem to work. I still feel some of that rebellious spirit. I came up in hardcore and punk, where being angry and protesting was the norm. But I also experienced the irony of the ’90s – the idea that language is flawed, so let’s just make jokes about everything. That had its time, but now, I think true bravery lies in saying, “I don’t have all the answers. I’m feeling lost, and I want to understand others. I’m truly seeking connection.”

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2025-10-03 19:59