Marianne (Andrea Bræin Hovig) is a forty-something-year-old and very pragmatic oncologist in Oslo. She communicates the repercussions of prostate cancer to her patients with precision, while also attempting to convey a sense of optimism. She tells a perplexed man with an honest smile printed on her safe: “your diagnosis was very early, and you are going to live”. Her loyal nurse Tor (Tayo Cittadella Jacobsen) is very devoted to his job. He is a very handsome and sexually active gay man – often meeting dates on Grindr, and having casual sex on the ferry journey home – and therefore notably familiar with the male anatomy. He feels a lot more compassion for male patients, he confesses.
Both Marianne and Tor are single and enjoy no-strings sex. The male nurse is a lot randier than the female doctor, and bemuses her with details of his countless adventures. She too has a story or two to share, however not as spicy. The two colleagues enjoy a genuine bond and a sense of complicity, in a film carefully designed to cater for both male and female, heterosexual and homosexual sensibilities. At times, it feels a little formulaic. Powerful cinema is universal. A good gay story can move straight people, and vice-versa. It is not necessary to fragment the narrative in order to please different demographics. It is not an indictable offence, either.
The first half of this two-hour film borders on didacticism. A tourist guide promotes sexual freedom and she takes her clients on a tour of the Town Town, complete with statues representing homosexuality and a threesome (at least in her interpretation). Tor’s detailed description of Grindr and cruising etiquette feels like a crash course on homosexual activity, carefully tailored to straight audiences (or curious newcomers!). The extensive conversations about promiscuity are a little boring and pretentious. The movie acquires a little more depth in the second half, when a couple of twist put Marianne and Tor’s morals on trial.
This is a highly masculine film, with a focus on male afflictions. The men are unabashed of their promiscuous behaviour (both Tor and Marianne’s one-night-stand confess without hesitation that they regularly have casual sex with strangers), while Marianne is more selective of her partners. The director – who also penned the film script – does not judge his characters, instead presenting their proclivities as entirely natural. Tor turns out to be a generous and sensitive human being. The movie wraps up with an uplifting message of hope, empathy and resilience – somewhat watered down by a syrupy feel-good tune.
This is the another film in Antonio Barbera’s “sex” list of 2024 (movies that the Artistic Director of the Biennale praised because of the candid “representation of sexuality”, and alleged shunning of “prudery”). The others were Halina Reijn’s Babygirl and Luca Guadagninio’s Queer (he also mentioned Alfonso Cuaron’s Disclaimer, but that’s a television series). In reality, none of these films contain realistic representations of sex. In fact, Love barely contains any sex (except for a very brief and timid outdoors interaction). The takeaway is very clear (in Love, as also on the other films): it is acceptable to talk about non-conventional sex, but it is not acceptable to provide a realistic portrayal. We desperately need less talk and more action.
Love just premiered in the Official Competition of the 81st Venice International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. This is the second entry in Hagerud’s Sex, Love, Dreams trilogy, after Sex (2024), which premiered earlier this year in the Panorama section of the Berlinale. Also showing in the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, and at Tiff Romania. In cinemas on Friday, August 15th.
