The relationship between students and teachers can be deeply emotional, often filled with layers of complexity. During our formative years, we rely heavily on our educators for attention and validation, which can lead to feelings that oscillate between intense admiration and disdain. The memories of these connections often outlast the lessons learned in the classroom.
For 17-year-old Johanne (played by Ella Øverbye), an unexpected bond develops with her new teacher, Johanna (Selome Emnetu), sparked initially by their shared names. This connection quickly intensifies, blurring the lines between genuine affection and youthful fantasy. Director Dag Johan Haugerud’s film, “Dreams,” intricately explores this first-love experience, illustrating how love can cast a dreamy veil over reality while also offering newfound self-awareness.
In “Dreams,” Haugerud delicately navigates the intricate dynamics of love and intimacy. This film serves as the concluding part of his trilogy that delves into modern Norwegian romance, following “Sex” and “Love.” Each installment is marked by a combination of restraint and open honesty about human desires, but “Dreams” stands out as the only coming-of-age narrative and the only one exclusively focused on female longing. Notably, aside from a late appearance from a character in “Love,” the film primarily features women.
Originally intended to be the second entry in the trilogy, “Dreams” ended up being the last to debut internationally, owing to festival scheduling. Its selection for competition at the Berlinale, a year after the premiere of “Sex,” reflects the critical acclaim and interest that Haugerud’s unique work has garnered, offering distributors various opportunities for release.
“Dreams” wields emotional clarity and succinct narrative strength, making it potentially the breakout film of the trilogy. The film evokes a bittersweet nostalgia akin to that of the acclaimed Norwegian film “The Worst Person in the World.” Its chilly, muted color palette—crafted by cinematographer Cecilie Semec—sets it apart from its predecessors’ lighter tones.
The film opens with Johanne contemplating, “My life is in a cloud,” a voiceover that captures her internal conflict throughout. As she shares her thoughts in a confessional, literary style, it becomes clear that her feelings are often enigmatic, known only to her. Johanne has previously experienced love only through the pages of novels, but upon entering Johanna’s classroom, she feels her emotions become tangible: “I could feel her presence all through my body.”
Johanna’s youthful, approachable demeanor further complicates Johanne’s feelings. When her mother, Kristin (Ane Dahl Torp), attempts to be understanding by labeling Johanne’s crush as “a queer awakening,” Johanne resists defining herself based on this singular experience, realizing she needs to process her feelings through writing—not in a traditional diary format, but as a vivid, heartfelt narrative.
As Johanne’s story unfolds, the boundaries between reality and imagination blur, particularly when she decides to visit Johanna outside of school under the pretext of extra knitting lessons. Johanne believes these encounters signify something deeper, while the audience grapples with the potential illusions of her infatuation.
As Haugerud’s sharp, thoughtful script broadens to encompass the viewpoints of various characters—including Johanne’s mother and grandmother—the narrative becomes more intricate and challenging. The complexities of Johanne’s relationship with Johanna raise questions: Is Johanna manipulating her crush, or is she striving to protect her young student? Is Johanne’s understanding accurate, or is she lost in her fantasy?
While Johanne’s writing stirs up complications among her family, her grandmother, Karin (played by Anne Marit Jacobsen), admires the literary quality of this young prose, while Kristin becomes increasingly alarmed by her daughter’s revelations. This clash culminates in a humorous scene that revisits old family grievances through a discussion about the feminist implications of the movie “Flashdance.”
Haugerud’s script is rich in insight as it explores the insecurities and ideological differences among three generations of women, yet it is especially compassionate toward the youngest. As Johanne navigates the complexities of her heartache, she realizes that her experiences of love may forever alter her.
In the end, “Dreams” leaves its characters—and its audience—with a diverse array of emotions to ponder, far beyond the confines of conventional narrative resolution.
