‘Fjord’ Highlights The Limits Of Faith, Family And Tolerance In A Secular Society
(REVIEW) The conflict between church and state has long been a deep source of anxiety in the Western world and, therefore, a favorite subject for filmmakers to dramatize. Movies like “A Man for All Seasons” and “Becket,” as well as shows like “The Handmaid’s Tale,” show what happens when either institution becomes tyrannical and make for great entertainment.
Yet most of these movies cheat by setting their stories in the past or a dystopian future. Modern people also wrestle with whether a secular state or a resurgent religious right poses a greater threat. Yet movies that try to express these anxieties — like “God’s Not Dead” or “One Battle After Another” — typically reduce one side of the discussion to caricatures.
Enter “Fjord,” a movie based on a true story that plays out like a parable about the broader conflict between conservative religious minorities and the limits of tolerance in a secular, pluralistic society. The movie uses not only dialogue but also cinematic style itself to challenge its audience — conservative, liberal, religious and secular alike. In a way, film theorist André Bazin would be proud of.
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The film follows the Gheorghius, a Romanian-Norwegian couple, as they resettle in a village nestled beside a distant fjord, where they grow close to their neighbors, the Halbergs. Their children bond despite their different upbringings. When adolescent Elia Gheorghiu shows up at school with bruises on her body, the community begins to question whether the traditional upbringing the Gheorghiu children receive from their parents has anything to do with it. The film is loosely inspired by the true story of the Bodnariu family, whose children were forcibly taken from them by Norwegian authorities.
The family is renamed the Gheorghius in the film. Sebastian Stan, known for playing Bucky Barnes (the Winter Soldier) in the Marvel franchise, stars as family patriarch Mihai Gheorghiu, while Renate Reinsve, known for “The Worst Person in the World” and this year’s “Backrooms,” stars as the matriarch Lisbet.
The film’s commentary on religious pluralism in a secular society is among the sharpest ever put on film. Like many modern Western societies, the Norwegian village that welcomes the Gheorghius sincerely prides itself on being open and welcoming to everyone.
The Gheorghius are practicing Christians who love each other and are not monsters — even if they hold conservative beliefs about parental discipline and sexuality. Yet everyone is clearly walking a tightrope. Lisbet is prohibited from sharing her faith at work so as not to impose her beliefs on others. Yet she feels compelled to secretly share Christian mementos and invite a woman to her church — an invitation we later learn the woman genuinely appreciates.
This balance falls apart when school officials decide that the Gheorghius are abusing their children. Here, tolerance for religious differences reaches its limits. When the family tries to explain that neither the parents nor their children view their actions as abusive, the authorities reveal a fundamental contradiction: Religious minorities are free to practice their beliefs as long as those beliefs do not contradict the wider society’s values.
The school affirms that children are allowed to express their sexuality at school, but not their religious beliefs. When Mrs. Halberg questions why her community can express its beliefs openly while the Gheorghius cannot express theirs, Mr. Halberg angrily admits that it is because his community’s beliefs are right and rational, while the Gheorghius’ are not.
This cuts to the heart of the culture war that has been raging in the West since traditional Christianity stopped being the cultural majority and became a minority. And it does so far more truthfully than most recent films on the subject. Documentaries like “God & Country” portray religious conservatives as frightening figures trying to impose their values on everyone else through government — only to end by advocating that Christians impose the filmmaker’s values on others through government.
“Fjord” acknowledges that liberal democracy itself faces a predicament, even when all parties are sincere and well-meaning. How much can a society respect religious pluralism while still protecting people who might be harmed by it?
Western history is essentially a constant negotiation over that question. The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in cases like Employment Division v. Smith (1990) that claiming an action is part of one’s religion does not grant a blanket exemption from any law one does not wish to follow. But in other cases, such as Mahmoud v. Taylor (2025), the court has ruled that religious beliefs can justify allowing parents to opt their children out of lessons involving LGBTQ-related topics.
What the film forces us to confront is that no society can be truly neutral in the end. It also encourages humility about whether our side is always right. The film shows the love and closeness among the Gheorghius and contrasts them with the dysfunction and depression within the Halberg family.
This contrast is increasingly supported by social science. Sociologists and commentators such as Jonathan Haidt, Ryan Burge and Arthur Brooks, as well as the Institute for Family Studies, have noted that religious communities and parents tend to have happier, more functional families and that children raised in these environments have resisted many, if not most, of the toxic effects of an increasingly lonely, phone-addicted society.
But the film wisely avoids uncritically siding with the religious right. When we see crowds of Romanian religious protesters chanting that secular society is evil, and hear how they talk privately about the society in which they live, we have good reason to believe they would be far less tolerant of their enemies than their enemies are of them if they were in charge. Likewise, as the movie progresses, we are given reason to believe that even some of the children will eventually find their family’s ways oppressive and want to escape them.
In one of the film’s best exchanges, one lawyer asks another whether she would enjoy the same freedoms she is advocating for the Gheorghius family if she lived in a society governed by people like them. Her reply comes closest to serving as the film’s thesis statement. Although the scene is played with remarkable nonchalance, her words land like a mic drop.
What truly makes “Fjord” a masterpiece is that it is one of those magical movies in which the filmmaker seems to know exactly how to shoot each scene to convey precisely what he intends. Unlike many Christian films, “Fjord” does not leave the script to bear the entire burden of its message. Instead, the film’s form reinforces its subject, particularly through its cinematography.
The film is shot primarily in long takes, using wide and medium-long shots. This allows us to see multiple people in the same scene as they talk and react to one another’s words and actions. Legendary film theorist André Bazin argued that this style of filmmaking gives audiences greater freedom to focus on the parts of a scene that interest them rather than allowing the filmmaker to control their gaze. This is why Bazin described this kind of filmmaking as “democratic.” It lets audiences decide what interests them and what they value rather than imposing those judgments through excessive close-ups or cuts to details the filmmaker wants them to notice.
For example, when the Halbergs argue about the Gheorghius around the dinner table, the film keeps nearly everyone in the frame without cutting away. This lets viewers decide whom to focus on. It does not impose a value judgment about which characters or viewpoints matter most. The movie contains many scenes that serve the same purpose. It does not want to tell you who is right; it wants you to decide for yourself. The cinematography reinforces that approach.
The contrast becomes particularly apparent when watching “Fjord” alongside “Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother” — a comparison in no way influenced by my seeing screenings of the two films two days apart. That film is told largely from the protagonist’s subjective perspective, allowing viewers to experience what spirituality feels like to the person who experiences it.
The movie determines what you will feel and whose perspective you will share, and it does so effectively. “Fjord,” by contrast, keeps that kind of subjectivity at arm’s length, allowing your own values to influence which characters you relate to most. The uncertainty about whom to side with becomes part of the tension.
The film’s main flaw is its ending. The problem with slow-burn stories is that they eventually have to burn. And while the film ends with characters making a life-altering decision, the conclusion feels more like a whimper. The choice is thematically meaningful, but it is rooted in avoiding consequences or change rather than confronting them. As a result, the ending lacks the punch of something like “Parasite.”
Even so, this film is easily the most earnest and sophisticated treatment of the ongoing civilizational culture war between the religious right and the secular state in decades, if not ever. It will not tell you how to fix the problems or whom to side with. But it will tell you not to look away.
“Fjord” is playing now in theaters everywhere.
Joseph Holmes is an award-nominated filmmaker and culture critic living in New York. He is co-host of the podcast “The Overthinkers” and its companion website theoverthinkersjournal.world, where he discusses art, culture and faith with his fellow overthinkers. His other work and contact info can be found at josephholmesstudios.com.