‘Families Like Ours' Review: Emptying Denmark

New York Times

a day ago

The mini-series 'Families Like Ours' on Netflix has an attention-grabbing premise: An entire country, Denmark, decides to shut itself down before climate change can do the job for it. Six million Danes start looking for new homes. Relocation plans are drawn up with Scandinavian efficiency, but European neighbors look upon waves of relatively well-off white refugees with the same distaste they show for Africans and Middle Easterners.
The seven-episode series is the first from the Danish filmmaker Thomas Vinterberg, known for founding the no-frills Dogme 95 movement with Lars von Trier and, 26 years later, being nominated for a best director Oscar for 'Another Round,' which won best international feature in 2021. The handsomely appointed 'Families Like Ours,' which Vinterberg wrote, with Bo Hr. Hansen, and directed, breaks just about every rule in the Dogme manifesto, as his films have all along. It is a high-class consumer item, deliberate and hushed.
It does, however, have something in common with his one true Dogme film, 'The Celebration' from 1998. It subjects an extended Danish family to pressure and traces the fissures of guilt and dependency, the outbreaks of bad behavior and gallantry, that result. 'The Celebration,' released when Vinterberg was 29, did this via transgressive, occasionally puerile black humor; 'Families Like Ours' offers restrained, tasteful domestic drama. The contrast is startling, but the underlying satisfactions are similar.
The new series (it premiered Tuesday on Netflix) will be categorized as a climate-change drama, and it is that. The story appears to take place in an unspecified but near future when waters have risen and efforts to hold them back have met with varying success. But the evidence of danger is mostly offscreen; the crisis is suggested through newscasts and ominous puddles. Vinterberg imagines that the climate crisis will arrive not in floods and heat but in bureaucracy and confusion — endless lines, indecipherable rules, arduous journeys, a constant assault on hope. His vision may not be easily dramatic, but it is convincing.
(The overall premise is a more difficult sell. Would the Danes, as disciplined and regimented as they might be, really leave their country as obediently as the series portrays? Wouldn't many congregate on high ground and fight to stay? The show's failure to take on that possibility is a problem.)
The show is also defined, in part, by the obvious reversal it plays on our expectations for stories about refugees. It is formerly comfortable white people who are standing in the lines, yelling across bank counters and nakedly pleading for handouts and favors. They are shocked by the conditions they face once they make it to Paris or Bucharest.
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