‘The Northman’ Review: Danish Premodern

“The Northman” tells a very old story — maybe the same old story. A young prince seeks to avenge the murder of his father, the king, whose killer has usurped the throne and married the prince’s mother. That’s “Hamlet,” of course, but Robert Eggers’s new film isn’t another Shakespeare screen adaptation, bristling with Elizabethan eloquence, high-toned acting and complex, uncannily modern psychology.

Eggers, who wrote the screenplay with the Icelandic novelist and playwright Sjon, has conjured this bloody saga out of the ancient Scandinavian narratives that supplied Shakespeare’s source material. His raw material, you might say, since “The Northman” insists on the primal, brutal, atavistic dimensions of the tale. Amleth, as he is called, is no student philosopher, temporizing over the nuances of being and nonbeing. He is a berserker, a howling warrior with ripped abs, superhero combat skills and a righteous cause for his endless blood lust.

This is what I mean by the same old story. In modern movies, even more than in 17th-century English plays, revenge can seem like the most — maybe the only — credible motive for heroic action. Just ask the Batman. Truth and justice are divisive abstractions, too easily deconstructed or dressed up in gaudy ideological colors. Love is problematic. Payback, in contrast, is clean and inarguable, even if it leaves a mess in its wake.

“Avenge father. Save mother. Kill uncle,” young Amleth repeats to himself as he flees the scene of his father’s death. These words propel him into manhood, as he grows from a wide-eyed boy played by Oscar Novak into a cold-eyed marauder played by Alexander Skarsgard.

Amleth inhabits a world whose operating principle is cruelty, and Eggers’s accomplishment lies in his fastidious, fanatical rendering of that world, down to its bed linens and cooking utensils. If you’ve ever played Dungeons and Dragons, you may have encountered a dungeon master who took the game very, very seriously, attacking the task of fantasy world-building with excessive scholarly rigor and over-the-top imaginative zeal. That kind of player can be intimidating, but also a lot more fun than the average weekend geek.

Eggers is like that. His two previous features — “The Witch” and “The Lighthouse” — unfold in versions of the past that split the difference between authenticity and hallucination. “The Witch” (2016) turns Puritan New England into a feverish, poisoned pastoral landscape of religious mania, unacknowledged lust and literal bedevilment. “The Lighthouse” (2019), set on a windswept island off the North Atlantic coast of America, is a clammy sea chantey about men going mad in close quarters.

Driven less by plot than by a succession of intensifying moods, these films dig into historical moments when the boundary between the human and the supernatural felt especially thin. Archaic forms of belief are treated not as quaint superstitions, but as ways of understanding scary or inexplicable facets of experience. The witches and mermaids are as real as anything else.

And so it is in “The Northman,” which, like “The Witch,” mines a shadow-shrouded pagan past for images and effects. In the 1600s of the earlier film, older customs and beliefs had been pushed into the margins by Christianity, but in this version of early medieval Northern Europe, that relationship is reversed. Christianity is mentioned in passing as a weird form of worship — “their God is a corpse nailed to a tree,” one character says — in a polytheistic, polyglot society made and unmade by endless conquest, migration and war.

As a boy, Amleth lives in a benevolent corner of this world. His father, Aurvandil War-Raven (Ethan Hawke), is a pretty fun dad for a warrior chieftain, turning Amleth’s initiation ceremony into a night of silly, flatulent horseplay. Spiritual guidance is provided by a shamanistic fool (Willem Dafoe) and a spooky seeress (Björk). But nothing can protect Aurvandil from his bastard half brother, Fjolnir (Claes Bang), who kills the king and takes up with his wife, Gudrun (Nicole Kidman).

Later, Amleth’s child’s-eye view of what happened will be complicated when he hears Gudrun’s side of things. (Kidman’s sly performance is the most Shakespearean thing about “The Northman.”) First, though, he will join a band of Viking raiders, whose plunder of a town somewhere around Russia provides Amleth — and Eggers — a chance to show off their chops. Literally, in Amleth’s case, as he hacks, stabs and cudgels his way over ramparts and through muddy dooryards and alleyways.

Eggers, aided by Jarin Blaschke’s smooth, immersive cinematography, turns the scene into a Hieronymus Bosch painting in motion, a tableau of terror and chaos composed with remorseless clarity. There is something coldblooded in this matter-of-fact depiction of violence. Villagers are herded into a barn, which is sealed up and set ablaze. Rapes, beatings and disembowelments happen in the background or on the edges of the frame, barely noticed by our hero.

The purpose of the attack is to capture slaves who will be sorted and shipped off to various customers — including, Amleth learns, to Fjolnir, who has set up a new kingdom in Iceland with Gudrun and their sons. In the company of a captive named Olga of the Birch Forest (Anya Taylor-Joy, who also did some forestry in “The Witch”), Amleth joins the enslaved, smuggling himself across the sea to confront his nemesis at last.

We can leave the plot there. It moves in a straight, relentless line, but matters in the Fjolnir-Gudrun household get a little intricate once Amleth and Olga arrive on this scene. Her earth-goddess magical powers make her a formidable ally, though she isn’t only that. The hokeyness of the romance between Skarsgard and Taylor-Joy, from an old-school movie-lover’s point of view, is one of the best parts of “The Northman” — a touch of ultra-blond Hollywood glamour amid the Nordic mumbo-jumbo.

Which I totally respect. A recent profile in The New Yorker posited that “The Northman,” which lists several historical consultants in its credits, “might be the most accurate Viking movie ever made.” The evidence for this is in the production design (by Craig Lathrop) and the costumes (by Linda Muir), in the runic chapter titles and in the careful pronunciation of words like “Odin” and “Valhalla.” But fidelity to the past, however obsessive, is ultimately a minor, technical achievement, and “The Northman” is a movie with big — if somewhat obscure — ambitions.

Eggers’s brutal, beautiful vision of history compensates, as such visions often do, for the deficiencies of the present. It isn’t that anyone would be happier living Amleth’s life, or those of the nameless slaves and soldiers whose slaughter decorates his adventure. But his reality is built on clear and emphatic moral lines, on coherent (albeit harsh) ideas about honor, power and what gives meaning to life and death.

The point is not that you or any other modern person believes in these ideas — though I suppose there are some people who might pretend to — but that the characters are governed by them. Their fates make sense to them, and therefore to us as well. What’s perhaps most impressive about “The Northman” is that it hurtles through 136 minutes of musclebound, shaggy-maned mayhem without a whisper of camp or a wink of irony. Nobody is doing this for fun. Even if, in the end — thank goodness — that’s mostly what it amounts to.

The Northman
Rated R. Endless blood lust, and some of the other kind, too. Running time: 2 hours 16 minutes. In theaters.