A definitive 6.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Norway: Land of the Midnight Sun remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have a weird soft spot for grainy, black-and-white travel footage from the mid-20th century, you’ll probably find this little excursion quite relaxing. It is definitely not for anyone who needs a plot, tension, or, you know, color. You’re basically sitting through a geography lesson that feels like it was filmed by your great-grandfather on a vacation he took a hundred years ago. 🏔️
The whole thing has this very specific, jaunty narrator voice that reminds me of Koko Trains 'Em. It’s got that authoritative, 1930s-style cheerfulness that doesn't really exist anymore. You know the kind—where every sentence sounds like a headline.
The scenery is honestly pretty great, even if the film stock is fighting against the light half the time. There is a moment where the camera lingers on a fjord, and for a second, it feels like the screen is actually breathing. Then the narrator interrupts to tell you exactly how tall the mountain is, and the spell breaks.
I found myself staring at the Lapplanders’ outfits for way too long. The texture of the wool looks so heavy and scratchy, it’s almost uncomfortable to watch. It’s those tiny, weird details—like the way a reindeer trots or how the sunlight hits the water—that make these old shorts stick in your brain.
If you're in the mood for something completely low-stakes, this is it. It’s nowhere near as frantic as The Great Pie Mystery, obviously. It’s just... quiet. Sometimes that is exactly what you need after staring at a screen for ten hours straight. 🎞️
It feels a bit like looking through someone else’s photo album. You don't know the people, you've never been to the places, but you still find yourself nodding along. I wish the film quality was a bit sharper, but honestly? The blurriness kind of adds to the dreamlike vibe. It’s a nice little relic, nothing more, nothing less.
