Rating: R | Runtime: 117 minutes
Release Date: September 27th, 2024 (Norway) / November 29th, 2024 (USA)
Studio: Norsk Filmdistribusjon / IFC Films
Director(s): Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel
Writer(s): Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel

There’s a difference between tolerance and irresponsibility.

It’s easy to get caught up in the story. Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel (Liv Ullman and Ingmar Bergman’s grandson) has made it so we must … at least at first. Because Elisabeth (Renate Reinsve) seems like your stereotypical absentee mother demanding attention and adoration from everyone she meets. So, of course she wouldn’t know her son has been terrorizing classmates. Of course she wouldn’t accept that her job as an actress taking her away for long stretches and the tragic recent death of her husband have impacted the boy in irreparable ways. It’s why the school decides to use kid gloves. To break the news of what happened in person and figure out a way forward with as little publicity as possible.

Armand therefore begins by showing us details in a way that confirms these assumptions. Elisabeth speeding down the road while practically begging her son to reciprocate her “I love you” over the phone. The principal (Øystein Røger’s Jarle) and head nurse (Vera Veljovic-Jovanovic’s Ajsa) speaking in generalities while passing the buck to the boy’s teacher (Thea Lambrechts Vaulen’s Sunna) as far as dealing with breaking the news. And the accuser’s parents (Ellen Dorrit Petersen’s Sarah and Endre Hellestveit’s Anders) calmly waiting for their apology because the case is open and shut to them considering their boy Jon would never lie about something as disturbing as what Armand did and threatened to do. Here comes the wake-up call for Elisabeth to realize she’s a horrible mother.

Yet her complete ignorance to the situation seems genuine. Not only has no one told her about this latest incident, but talk of previous ones catches her off-guard to the point where we again presume she’s just not paying attention. Except that her confusion has merit. If Jon was so afraid of Armand, why did he always end up coming over for dinner? Why did Sarah let him keep coming to dinner? Then you discover the boys are actually cousins (Sarah and Armand’s late father were siblings). That they’ve been close practically since birth. That they’re only six-years-old. Why then shouldn’t Elisabeth believe her son when he claims innocence just like Sarah believes her own? Why should speculation about her life make it so her boy would be the one to know about adult words and acts rather than Jon?

The whole proves to be a tense affair as the implicit accusations covered by those kid gloves soon become more pointed. Things become so uncomfortably one-sided that Elisabeth cannot help but break out in laughter at the absurdity of it all. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is just a matter of boys playing and going too far. Maybe, if she was made aware of the situation earlier, she could have spoken to Armand and been more prepared for this meeting. Maybe if Jarle wasn’t so interested in keeping things under wraps, Elisabeth would have understood the severity of that meeting before they sprung it on her with carefully chosen vocabulary meant to lessen the school’s liability rather than protect the children. This whole ordeal is one botched misstep after another.

What we don’t yet know, however, is that the assumptions and hearsay began well before these adults gathered in Sunna’s classroom. There are the familial revelations. The circumstances surrounding Elisabeth’s husband’s death. Jarle’s connection to Sarah and her brother having taught them decades prior. Additional allegations thrown in by Sarah in such a way that even Anders shows discomfort towards their validity. Sure, the school isn’t an investigative service, but this desire for mediation without even a cursory attempt at gathering facts ensures the whole thing devolves into character assassination. And for what? This is supposed to be about the boys’ safety. Why does it feel personal?

The answer is easy: everything has become personal. The flattening of our world via technology was supposed to provide us more empathy for others and yet, with the help of an increasingly tribalistic form of politics meant to divide the working class in ways that allow the wealthy to profit, we’ve only grown further apart. Jealousy and greed reign. Fear trumps compassion. Self-preservation by any means necessary renders truth obsolete. Armand is distilling mankind’s penchant for baseless attacks and fearmongering down into the interaction of three distinct entities in a familiarly simple scenario. There’s the aggrieved dictating opinion, the accused attempting to gather facts, and the institution desperate to cover its own ass.

Where it goes may surprise you both in how it turns the tables and upends our prejudiced preconceptions and how it blurs the line between the physical and psychological. Because the emotional toll is heavy for all involved. Anders caught between loyalty and honesty. Sunna caught between rules and feelings. Elisabeth caught between image and self (Reinsve is fantastic). It leads to an extended dance sequence that will prove as powerfully evocative to some as it will silly and obtuse to others. There’s also the addition of an external kangaroo court of public opinion revealing just how easy it is to flip the switch from love to hate. And it culminates in a silent, formally brilliant scene of release that proves the hate can dissolve just as easily too. Unfortunately, more often than not, the death of nuance rarely allows the latter process before it’s too late.

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Renate Reinsve in Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel’s ARMAND. Courtesy of IFC Films. An IFC Films Release.