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There are few things more terrifying than a parent becoming your greatest adversary. This is how Danish director Christian Bonke chooses to begin Hercules Falling, when in disturbing fashion, a father inspires fear in his young son.

This is a simplified interpretation of an emotionally complicated situation. The father, Youssef (Dar Salim), a former Danish soldier, is suffering from PTSD. One night, his son, Oskar (Hector Banissi) tries to wake him after the pair have fallen asleep in front of the television. Youssef, who’s in the midst of a nocturnal panic attack awakens, and in a confused state attacks his son.

The next time we see Youssef, he’s on his way to a retreat centre for soldiers on Strynó Island (the real Nature Retreat for Veterans, run by Stuart Press and his wife Anne-Line Ussing). Stuart, an Australian army veteran who was diagnosed with PTSD, tells Youssef, “I know what it’s like when your family is afraid of you.” It’s a line that amplifies the audience’s comprehension of Youssef’s nightmarish fate, because Stuart’s sympathetic words tell us this is a shared and common experience. From there, Youssef, begins the journey to manage his trauma, with the hopes of reconnecting with his wife Laerke (Christine Gjerulff) and son.

Mental health and trauma are problematic subjects because they are vulnerable to being objectified and emotionally exploited for dramatic purposes. This is not the case in Hercules Falling. Instead, Bonke attempts to genuinely capture the lived experience of soldiers whose mental health and wellbeing has been harmed by war.

In an early scene, Youssef is hostile towards a therapist. Youssef tells him he’d like him to stop talking, and asks if he can do that. In this moment, Bonke captures a snapshot of the cornerstones of the therapist and patient relationship: trust and vulnerability. Other scenes build on this idea that a person must lower their defences and allow people in before relationships can form and help can be accepted. There’s a particularly amusing yet serious scene where a confrontation with nature advocates for patience and time. This is somewhat ironic given the brisk pace at which the story moves.

Bonke could be accused of not sitting with moments for long enough to allow them time to develop, whether from a thematic or dramatic point of view. That’s not the case here. Under Bonke’s direction, Hercules Falling takes the approach of trusting that enough has been said. For example, Youssef is a sympathetic and likeable character, but his frame makes him physically imposing. Salim gives a performance full of nuance, where he switches from being a friendly giant, to a more imposing presence. This can be seen in the opening scene, when Salim delicately reveals these different sides of his character. An important thing to note is that there’s more set-up in the opening scene than one might register, in part because of a subtlety in the writing, direction and acting. Bonke is trusting that beyond the immediacy of the experience, a deeper understanding and appreciation will form.

A relationship that lacks screen time is Youssef and Laerke’s. There are a handful of emotionally charged encounters between the pair that singles them out as some of the more engaging scenes. Laerke, alongside Oskar is an important connection to the world outside of Youssef’s temporary safe place. While Youssef is the central focus because he’s the one with PTSD, the family are also a part of that journey. However, Bonke understands that he’s telling a chapter, even a part of a single chapter of a larger story. It will be later when Laerke’s role expands as she reenters Yousseff’s space.

Hercules Falling shows its compassion by understanding that not every action is about choice. There are times when people, under the auspices of trauma for example, are overwhelmed and act out of character. But at the same time, there are moments when we have the power to choose. Yousef is a character that eventually must wrestle with a choice, and it’s in this moment that the script shows its maturation. From its opening scene, Hercules Falling has been a journey with a destination – perhaps a philosophical one. There’s a lot of truth spoken in its ending, and an uncomfortable truth that many people out there are wrestling with right now.

If there’s a criticism of Hercules Falling, it’s that I admired the film more than I liked it. It’s impossible to not recognise the importance of representing these experiences onscreen, but inexplicably, it failed to reach my heart and engage me emotionally.

Hercules Falling just premiered in the First Feature Competition of the 29th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.