“A New Kind of Wilderness” Is Somber but Beautiful
Written by: Robin C. Farrell | October 23rd, 2024
A New Kind of Wilderness (Silje Evensmo Jacobsen, 2024) 3½ out of 5 stars
In A New Kind of Wilderness, director Silje Evensmo Jacobsen (Faith Can Move Mountains) along with a team of highly talented cinematographers, captures one family’s evolution through adventure, loss, compromise, and healing. Within the first few minutes, we’re introduced to Maria Vatne and Nik Payne through glorious, atmospheric visuals. Their idyllic, semi-off-the-grid lifestyle centers on their Norwegian farm and their children, Freja, Falk, and Ulv. The couple’s conscious choice not to participate in the “rat race” is conveyed swiftly, the details somewhat cursory in favor of spirit. Their life of living off the land, homeschooling, and picnics in the woods is enchanting but all of this screeches to a halt when Maria passes away from cancer, depicted entirely through a concise procession of still photographs.
There is no lingering or exploitation of Maria’s battle with the illness. The focus is on her stark absence afterward. Now, as a single parent, Nik must sell their beloved farm and shift the family into an entirely new way of life, questioning his decisions every step of the way. Ronja, Maria’s daughter from a previous relationship, navigates her relationship with the children from afar, having lived on the farm, as well, but since moved away. Editors Christoffer Heie (Troll) and Kristian Tveit weave past and present together, incorporating Maria’s media—captured prior to her death from her own point of view—and the media captured thereafter. Her voice trickles in at various points throughout, yet this technique is not overly utilized. Those “before” segments are sparse, but effective, just enough to draw comparison and context for the perspective of each family member as they move through changes, big and small.

Tonally, A New Kind of Wilderness remains at an elegant, melancholy pitch for nearly the whole runtime. It’s pensive, not driving. The gorgeous visuals, the vérité style, and the pacing all do tremendous work to hold the film together. Everything exists in the present moment, rather than exploring much beyond the current circumstances. There’s no escalation of conflict or contrived drama; it’s the day-to-day grind, the Paynes supporting each other on good days and bad. There’s the ever-present sense of fear throughout the film; how will they move on? How can they leave? How can they ever be happy again? The film offers a quiet conclusion where that fear never entirely goes away, and neither does the pain of loss. At one point, Freja says simply, “I just miss Mum.” The pain gets easier, but it never disappears, which is the succinct reality of loss: somber, but beautiful.