“The world is full of people,” states the anonymous narrator of Anders Thomas Jensen’s The Last Viking as an opening, hand-drawn animation tells a rather disturbing tale: there once was a viking prince who lost his arm in battle; his father, the king, decreed that everyone’s right arm also had to go. A quirky myth where disability becomes the norm sets the tone for what is now the sixth film directed by the Oscar-nominated Danish screenwriter, promising a wholesome arc to his typical brand of dark comedy. The animation is just a detour, the scene quickly shifting to the aftermath of a heist thriller with Anker (Nikolaj Lie Kaas) stashing a bag of money in a locker and asking his shy younger brother Manfred (Mads Mikkelsen) to swallow the key. Minutes later, police sirens drown out the frightened screams of their sister Freja (Bodil Jørgensen from The Kingdom: Exodus) amidst the tons of clutter the three siblings call their home.
Fifteen years later, Anker is released from prison and the first thing he does is, obviously, try to retrieve the cash; the trouble is, Manfred is not cooperative. He has since developed a condition that causes amnesia and split-personality disorder, kidnaps every dog he sees, and insists on being called “John”, after John Lennon. The definition of an oddball, Manfred / John is a brilliant character for Mads Mikkelsen to experiment with; mostly, it’s a role that’s not physical in a way that showcases the actor’s plasticity. He’s a bespectacled middle-aged man who’s timid and quiet until he’s volatile and hysterical––a surprisingly infantile character that brings out of Mikkelsen something we’re not used to seeing.
In fact, Jensen always manages to mine these weirdly soft performances out of the Danish actor, and a lot of that has to do with the consistency of themes and cast involved in all of his films––Mikkelsen, Lie Kaas, and Nicolas Bro (who plays the bad guy seeking revenge and money) rearrange themselves anew with each film, taking turns playing protagonists and antagonists. Even if you’re not familiar with the Jensen-verse of gentle giants, it’s likely you’d find The Last Viking touching––it weaves a lot of unspoken affection into its comedic settings. For example: the film’s middle act diverts from its heist-revenge plot to round up a number of Danish and Swedish psychiatric patients who share Manfred’s dissociative identity disorder diagnosis, and they start a band. Or, more precisely, they revive the Beatles. But they mostly play ABBA songs.
As a writer-director, Jensen is drawn to the figure of the underdog––always of the vulnerable kind––and The Last Viking is no exception to this rule. Anker and Manfred form two halves of the same whole, two broken men whose respective brokenness seems so incompatible that it miraculously fits––like siblings often do. Through a few flashbacks we learn that the boys had an abusive father who made their life living hell, a pre-teen Manfred often getting the harshest treatment for wearing viking gear to school. While these details shed some light on the symbolism of the title, this viking bit is code for an idiosyncratic take on masculinity, which Jensen’s films have always dissected with humor and tact. In his worlds, strength is a weakness and vulnerability an armor, which makes The Last Viking a perceptive take on men’s mental health––not through struggles, but a delightful mix of genre, meta-texuality, and positive affirmation masked as a Beatles song.
The Last Viking premiered at Venice 2025.
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