Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures
In the opening scene of Force Majeure, a happy family poses for a picture in front of the snowy slopes of a ski resort. Next scene, a “controlled explosion” draws down an unexpected near catastrophe. As the vacationers lunch on the resort’s terrace, a fast-moving wall of snow descends and threatens to engulf the lodge. The father, Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke), assures everyone that everything will be all right. Then the screen goes gray, covered in snow.
With Force Majeure, Swedish director Ruben Östlund isn’t shooting a disaster flick but exploring the sort of troubled intimacies mapped out years ago by his countryman, Ingmar Bergman. The avalanche physically hurts no one, but emotional pain surfaces soon enough. The mother, Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli), is shocked that Tomas snatched his iPhone and fled, leaving his family to face death. Tomas denies that he ran, claiming, like some daft postmodern philosopher, that they have different perceptions, different versions of reality. She persists, involving strangers in an increasingly uncomfortable series of conversations. Their two small children grow sulky and worried. Eventually, Ebba produces evidence from her cell phone camera.
With silence and body language as important as dialogue, the cast of Force Majeure are given space for great performances. The director masterfully accumulates the seemingly random digressions of everyday reality, the conversations and events that dead-end, within a story whose metaphysics are suggested by the stark setting of a blinding blue sky stretched across towering white peaks. The hairline fissures of disappointment widen to a chasm and the meaning of being civilized is addressed. The survival instinct, the fight or flight of our reptilian ancestors, is integral to human DNA. But does our humanity demand more?
Force Majeure opens Friday, Dec. 5 at the Oriental Theatre.
