There is a quote by Marcel Proust that appears in Les Plaisirs et les Jours (Pleasures and Days), a collection of miscellaneous writings in which he ponders every recess of human existence, that simply states “Desire makes everything blossom, possession makes everything wither and fade”, and while there is certainly no shortage of discussions on the concept of desire, this one has always stood out as being amongst the most simple and evocative. While it isn’t entirely clear whether Dag Johan Haugerud was aware of Proust’s words on the subject (although we do err towards the affirmative, considering his background as a librarian), they do prove to be a perfect entry point into discussing Dreams (Norwegian: Drømmer), the second part of his Sex/Dreams/Love trilogy which has proven to be something of a sensation. Each of the three films follows a different set of characters, based on the director’s efforts to encapsulate the nature of romance in the form of three distinct chapters, each one focusing on a different overarching concept. This film follows Johanne, who is in that awkward space between adolescence and adulthood – she’s old enough to realise that life is filled with various obstacles, but too young to know how to navigate these challenges. This is complicated with the arrival of Johanna, her enigmatic and beguiling French teacher, who immediately sweeps Johanne off her feet, leading her to not only question her identity, but her entire existence as a whole. Suddenly, the usually more reserved and bookish young woman finds herself falling madly in love with someone whom she doesn’t realise she cannot ever truly have. A year later, Johanne decides to commit her memories, emotions and (perhaps most importantly) her dreams into a free-form prose novel, which she gives to her mother and grandmother in the hopes of getting their advice, and perhaps even approval, not realising that she is potentially opening the door for something far more serious to emerge. A quiet and engaging drama that represents everything that makes Haugerud one of our most exciting contemporary auteurs, Dreams is an extraordinarily special little film, handcrafted by a director whose commitment to the material and its underlying themes positions this as one of the year’s most extraordinary masterpieces, and a true triumph in both concept and execution.

At some point in our lives, we all develop an affection that can only be considered unrealistic in hindsight – whether a crush or obsession, it is almost a rite of passage to fall in love with someone who we know can never truly reciprocate those feelings for whatever reason. However, it is from this that we often find the most important lessons on love, since nothing teaches us more about the subject than rejection in all of its forms. Dreams is a film that is simply about a young woman processing her growing attraction to her teacher, and rather than retreating from these feelings, Johanne leans into them, allowing the beautiful mystery of love to wash over her, guiding her daily life and eventually changing its trajectory entirely, or at least from her perspective. The director is working with tricky subject matter here, since this is a film about a budding romance between a teacher and their student – or rather an exploration of the connection between them that starts as purely a professional relationship, but eventually flourishes into something much deeper, even if it remains unnamed and lacks any physical components. This is a major reason why Dreams is such a staggering success – how often do we find films that are so steadfast in their desire to explore love as something that doesn’t need to be reciprocated to be beautiful? Many have made the mistake of calling this film a romantic drama, missing the fact that there is actually very little tangible romance present here, with the connection between the protagonist and the object of her affection seemingly being one-sided and built less from a mutual attraction, but rather shared interests and a deep respect for one another, which they both wholeheartedly avoid labelling in fear of being misunderstood. Through all of the discussons that anchor this film, Haugerud finds a very simple thesis statement on which to base the entire story, or rather a question: can something truly exist and be felt if we cannot name it? It is a fascinating exploration of our inherent desire to understand that which we cannot label, showing that the answers to some of life’s most beautiful mysteries remain elusive for a reason, namely that we are meant to experience them, being puzzled and challenged in an effort to not only understand the world that surrounds us, but also itself.

Based on the subject matter – which skirts around the edges of decency and morality in a way that is truly something to behold – you would be forgiven for expecting a more conventional melodrama, since romance is not always something that can be explored in logical and coherent ways, being one of the few topics that does excuse (if not sometimes embrace) excess in all its forms. However, we soon come to learn that Haugerud is very much a scholar of his Scandinavian peers, bringing a minimalistic style to every aspect of his films, and frankly being driven by the desire to craft more simple, detailed examinations of the human condition that are not any less moving, but have a quieter and more layered approach that we can appreciate in several ways. Words have always been the director’s most valuable tool (which is likely a result of his literary background, something that he infuses into every aspect of the filmmaking process, with this film in particular being a wonderful exploration of the art of writing and re-writing in itself), and through prioritising the spoken word – both in terms of monologue (the entire first act is a long soliloquy delivered by the protagonist in which she reveals her innermost thought) or dialogue between characters, each moment revealing new details to these people and their purpose. It’s not overly dramatic filmmaking from an aesthetic or tonal level, with Haugerud following the same approach as many of his Scandinavian cohorts in opting for a simpler, unfurnished style of storytelling, one that doesn’t require layers of complexity and instead reveals itself through a straightforward, minimalistic approach that carries an abundance of meaning. There are very few moments in which the film needs to resort to any overt sentimentality, since while it does tell a story that will likely resonate with many viewers (considering it taps into a subject far more universal than we would expect), it understands that its muted, understated approach will speak to far more people than a bundle of conventions and cliches. It does help that the director is far more interested in the contents of the conversations than stirring a particularly strong reaction, and in the process crafts one of the most moving, engaging depictions of love and desire we’ve seen in years.

Ultimately, a good screenplay can only be effective when it is accompanied by performances that are able to match it on both the literal and metaphorical levels. Dreams is exceptionally well-cast, consisting of a blend of newcomers and veterans who blend brilliantly to create a group of characters that feel effortlessly authentic and deeply compelling. Ella Øverbye has previously worked with the director (having appeared in the central role in his film Barn), and she once again proves that she is a generational talent – very rarely do we find someone capable of running the gamut of emotions with such ease, while also appearing entirely natural. Haugerud recognises that her strength lies not only in her powerful delivery of dialogue, but also in the more unspoken areas of the performance, such as in her facial expressions and the way she moves, which communicate just as much as the spoken words that populate the film. So much of the film focuses on her face as she quietly conveys her deepest desires, or reacts silently to the realisation that she has fallen in love with someone who can never truly be hers. It’s an extraordinary performance that shouldn’t be a surprise to those who have seen her previous work (her career is short but memorable), and it stands her in good stead to become one of the most exciting young performers working in contemporary Norwegian cinema. She is surrounded by three equally capable women, each one taking a supporting role that seems simple at first, but is revealed to be just as layered. The character of Johanne may be the primary focus, but each of the other women have their own moments in which they can reflect on the subject of desire. Selome Emnetu is the object of Johanne’s affections, a schoolteacher who struggles to draw a very clear line between what is appropriate conduct and immoral behaviour, while Ane Dahl Torp is Johanne’s concerned mother, a woman trying to provide her daughter with the emotional support she requires, but struggles to get through to her. The best supporting performance comes from Anne Marit Jacobsen, who plays the dutiful grandmother who tries to be a good influence on her granddaughter, but is revealed to be someone struggling with her own crisis of identity, her portions of the film being some of the most unforgettable in the film. Driven by the script, but brought to life by an extraordinary cast, Dreams is a very special film, and one that proves the skills of each of these women, who constitute one of the year’s most exceptional acting ensembles.

A poignant fable that is as poetic as it is provocative, Dreams is one of the year’s most extraordinary achievements, a quietly devastating and oddly life-affirming exploration of identity, desire and the limits between affection and objectification that manages to be poetic rather than exploitative. In most cases, a story built around a budding relationship between a teacher and their student would be viewed as scandalous and exploitative, but while the film refuses to condone such a companionship (which was frankly never meant to be the main propellant of the narrative), it also makes creative decisions in how it chooses to explore a potentially controversial topic, making its position abundantly clear from the start. It does help that Haugerud has more than proven himself as a director who earns the benefit of the doubt, using common subjects – such as the simple act of falling victim to one’s desires – as the foundation for extraordinarily moving glimpses into the human condition, something he strives to understand (much like many of us), but knows simply cannot be comprehended, at least not in the same way as some of life’s easier qualities. It’s an enigmatic exploration of a young woman navigating the first few moments of adulthood, attempting to make sense of a world that bewilders and confuses those who are not prepared for its challenges, and while it can sometimes neglect to provide us with the answers we crave, it still nonetheless proves to be a fascinating portrait of young love, focusing on the boundaries set between individuals that have a particular connection, but where their intentions are often entirely different. As both a film that stands on its own, and as part of a trilogy (the last part we will discuss in due course), Dreams is an extraordinary film – polished and clear in its intentions, while still having a sense of complexity that intentionally provokes thought, it is not as simple as it appears at a cursory glance. Well-written, brilliantly acted and driven by a kind of quiet sentimentality that is increasingly rare in a cinematic landscape that relies too heavily on conventional depictions of love and desire. It’s a beautiful film, and one that alone proves the director’s incredible ability to capture something so fascinating about the human condition, all of which is on display throughout this impeccable, moving and deeply original work that is both philosophically profound and emotionally impactful.