It would seem we should acknowledge Scandinavian cinema for more than merely the Dogma 1995 movement as cooked up by the Danish all those years ago. Den Brysomme Mannen, or The Bothersome Man in English, is a surreal and deeply thought through film yet deeply entertaining and rich in content both on and under the surface. As a film alone, it is a scathing comedy on society and attitudes in the post-modern world we live in; a world that judging by The Bothersome Man has reached the regions of Norway and the like. But along with this black comedy feel to it, it would seem the film delves a little deeper and raises issues, at least to me, of metaphorical religious spaces and our human instinct to want to uncover the truth amongst so much material in our world that perhaps seems alien to us.<br /><br />This was, in truth, a fantastic introduction to contemporary Norwegian cinema for me. The film very much falls into that category of the European art cannon with its deep themes and ambiguity shrouded atmosphere whilst maintaining an open finale and not so much a narrative as a procession of events that may mean one thing or another. So many times we've seen films that use the set up The Bothersome Man adopts and so many times it's turned into a close to predictable routine revolving around a detective story or a chase story or something along those lines but this film allows its setting and situation to act as a mere backdrop for its protagonist, named Andreas (Fausa Aurvaag), to explore who he is; where he is and what the possible mysteries behind this location really are.<br /><br />The set up I'm talking about involves said hero arriving at a location with no prior memory or what happened before this. I'll jump right in and say it's in my opinion he's dead and has been sent to some sort of purgatory, as have all the city's inhabitants. Everybody in the city that Andreas mixes with are of the same age; same mentality and same attitude suggesting to me that most of them are victims of their own suicide and have been sent to a purgatory devoid of any emotion, feeling, colour or most importantly, pain. <br /><br />When we first see Andreas, he gets off a bus which he later discovers is uncanny in its abilities, and approaches a petrol station in the middle of rural nowhere. He is scruffy and has a huge beard but soon he will be the opposite, sporting a suit and tie; clean shaven face and a home of his own complete with new job in which the film makes one of the best transforming shifts between the rural and the urban that I've ever seen. But the new job as well as the new city is uneasy; you can take breaks whenever you like; bosses are unusually kind and there just seems to be no emotion or reaction to anything. These ideas are best put across in a cinema when Andreas, still a relative newbie to the city, is crying and is clearly affected by a film on show but everyone else watches in stone faced style. There is also the initial example when one man has jumped from a window and lies impaled on some spikes but everybody walks on by without fuss.<br /><br />To back up my idea on everyone already being dead and the city acting as a sort of purgatory, death and harm in general is impossible. There is a particularly nasty scene involving an electronic paper guillotine and someone's thumb, but everyone's reaction to the event is stone faced and it grows back within the hour. Similarly, a suicide attempt involving trains later on comes to nothing and instead we get the point of view regarding what it's like to be dragged down tube tracks with invulnerability on your side. The city acts as a barrier, a painless society in which the masochistic need to self-harm oneself is impossible; a place in which sexual relations can occur and break-ups equally so but both under emotion-less and passion-less circumstances; a place in which people can attempt suicide but it is impossible to actually die. The city adopts these powers because the damage has already been done in 'real life' and thus, the film says you cannot kill yourself twice, indeed you cannot feel pain or emotion in an afterlife of purgatory.<br /><br />But the film's best part is the one that sneaks up on you. Judging by the closing five minutes of the film and the side-story that opens up involving some music coming from another man's house, it would seem there is a fine line between the spaces the film dictates as 'heaven' and 'hell'. We get to see these spaces only very, very briefly – so briefly that they consist of a single shot. The 'heaven' is a colourful kitchen with music and children playing: it offers life, hope, emotion and happiness whereas the hell is a snowy nowhere which haunts you thanks to its hopeless build up and eerie cut off point. The introduction of these two spaces at the very end of the film suddenly informs you of the reality Andreas and co. faced: purgatory and everything that came with it, the afterlife just was not ready for Andreas and his freethinking, adventurous mind – and look where the thinkers end up.