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22nd of July it's so good that it hurts. That's what it should do. This drama supported by Netflix traces the story of Anders Behring Breivik and the killings of holiday camps on the Norwegian island of Utoya. In July 2011, 77 people died, including eight in a previous explosion, also due to the work of Breivik, in the governmental area of Oslo. This was the worst outbreak of violence in Norway since the end of the Second World War.
Whatever the word "docudrama", with Paul Greengrass (also from Bloody Sunday and United 93) pretty much owns it. His group of Norwegian strangers, who interpret Greengrass's English text from Asne Seierstad's book on murder and trial, is surprisingly good. Stunned, because we sit there, dumb, astonished, confused with admiration, thinking, "They can not be actors. They are surely real people. "
The film is a procedure: a procedural massacre. This goes directly into the horrible story and begins to work. There are no front load backstories. We learn later what we need about people, as we have learned in life, through nets, scraps and chance revelations. Breivik, interpreted by Anders Danielsen Lie with a cold impassibility that becomes electrifying, suddenly arrived on a rural quay. He wears a police vest, carries guns and asks – or requisitions – a ferry.
Children in summer camps are like real children in summer camps. Chaos babbling, they suddenly turn into new chaos, concentrated, frightened, fleeting. Cries of flight or injury are covered with arrhythmic staccato shotgun. It is human pain in the face of justice without fanfare of the justice of a fanatic. ("Come on, Marxists" is almost his only cry, and even that gives a slight sense of direction to the audience.) Sune Martin's "musical score" resembles a tinnitus hum, ominously modulating.
The Norwegian Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg (Ola G. Furuseth) – yes, this Stoltenberg, now NATO leader – is constantly moving into the dark crisis meetings. A seriously wounded boy, Viljar, played by Jonas Strand Gravli with conviction and intensity purged of all theatricality, becomes the spokesperson for the victims. Breivik's lawyer (Jon Oigarden) tries to put together a defense case, while lines of force that punctuate doubt crack his conscience and his family life. The kinetics, style of pocket film, a specialty of Greengrass, captures everything that moves: the horror and the monster, taking place at almost the same pace. It's life. And the dead. One moment, there is banality. The next is the cataclysm. Tick tick, tick tick. . .
If the film has the slightest fault, it is the suspicion of humanist triumph over the climax of the trial. Or are we the audience who puts this indication ourselves? Are we monetizing emotionally or spiritually the defeated glances of the neo-Nazi defendant while Viljar speaks, as well as Viljar's own eyes glittering with conviction, because we are terrified by the bankrupt nihilism with which this story honestly considered could we leave?
★★★★★
"July 22" is in UK theaters and on Netflix from today
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