‘The Worst Person in the World’ is a painfully relatable story of love and self-identity

“If we go on, I’ll fall in love with you. Then it’ll be too late,” Aksel (Anders Danielsen Lie) admits to Julie (Renate Reinsve) right after sharing a special night together.

Initially unbothered by their agreement to end things, Julie stands for a beat outside of his apartment and in that instant fell for him. She quickly returns with a knock on his door and is immediately welcomed back inside by a grinning Aksel who clearly feels the same. They passionately make out as the delightful horns and the shimmering keys from Billie Holiday’s “The Way You Look Tonight” turn a somber realization into a romantic moment.

This sequence, at the tail end of the prologue, reveals the painful hardships and beautiful tenderness of romantic relationships – which serves as the thematic message at the crux of “The Worst Person in the World.”

The narrative is told through 12 chapters – as well as a prologue and an epilogue – that follows Julie, an impulsive young woman as she maneuvers through her complicated love life and struggles with her ever-changing identity during her late 20s and early 30s.

The Norwegian film is the final volume in writer-director Joachim Trier’s “Oslo Trilogy” and is an impeccable blend of romance, drama, and comedy. Trier, in tandem with Eskil Vogt, penned the script for “The Worst Person in the World,” as well as for its two predecessors (“Reprise,” “Oslo, August 31st”).

“The Worst Person in the World” is nominated for two Academy Awards – Best International Feature Film and Best Original Screenplay. That being said, Reinsve and Danielsen Lie deserved recognition in their respective acting categories for genuine performances that range from hilarious to heartbreaking and everything in between.

We’re first introduced to a Julie who is unable to commit to anything long-term growing bored with every facet of her life – boyfriends, hairstyles, academic majors, etc. Her life is like a revolving door of choices. That is until she meets Aksel, a well-known comic book artist who is fifteen years older than her. Despite the significant age gap, they begin dating and eventually move in together. Their relationship is tested by the sudden emergence of a younger, more thrilling beau named Eivind (Herbert Nordrum), whom Julie develops strong feelings for.

Her story unfolds in the city of Oslo, Norway, a beautiful backdrop that houses a vast cityscape meshed with a daunting mountain range, which allows for some breathtaking photography that elicits a sense of profound isolation. The opening shot is particularly representative of this.

Julie is the only character on-screen and Trier has placed her at the very center of the frame, contrasted against a seemingly infinite landscape. The camera slowly closes in as she stares out into the distance. Trier’s magnificent use of visual storytelling, using only Julie and her setting, expresses the loneliness she’s feeling without a single line of dialogue or any additional information.

It’s not until later on in the film that this scene is placed within the larger context of her life and although that context is essential for the plot, the initial emotional impact that Trier evokes is still easily understood without it.

Despite Trier’s naturalistic approach to filmmaking, with much of the camerawork, script and overall direction opting for a story that feels meticulously true-to-life, he uses a rare moment of surrealism to travel inside of Julie’s mind.

Noticeably discontent with the current state of her life and her relationship, she withdraws from her reality and becomes lost in an imaginative fantasy. The world around her pauses and with it so do her feelings of loneliness, indecisiveness, and emptiness. She takes advantage of this fanciful daydream and leaves Aksel behind to pursue Eivind. Julie runs through the city wherein all of its action is frozen in place. Her dissatisfaction is momentarily replaced with a grin of jubilance, confidence, and agency as she relishes in this newfound freedom.

When Julie returns to her apartment the fictional sequence ends and her real life is no longer suspended. Her negative feelings instantaneously come rushing to the forefront as she’s transported back to an unfulfilling reality with Aksel. Trier’s decision to jarringly interrupt the film’s essence, which was noticeably realistic up until that point, is a moving way to showcase the simultaneous split-second and infinite nature of decision-making. It’s an incredibly unique and effective approach that allows the audience to really understand Julie’s complicated emotions.

“I feel like a spectator in my own life. Like I’m playing a supporting role in my own life,” Julie confesses to Aksel as the camera lingers on her face.

Over the course of the two hours and eight minutes that is “The Worst Person in the World,” the irony of the film’s title becomes increasingly clear. Julie feels guilty for her personal desires and hates herself for acting on her “rash” impulses, thus making her “the worst person in the world.” In all actuality, her struggles in the film are inherently quite human and therefore relatable.

In one of the film’s final scenes, following a shocking and gut-wrenching turn of events, the ironic title comes full circle in a simple line that illustrates a complex meaning.

“You’re a damn good person,” Aksel quietly reassures both Julie and the audience.