Latest news with #Johanne
Yahoo
26-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Berlin Golden Bear Winner ‘Dreams' Scores Further Sales in Australia, Mexico, South Korea and More (EXCLUSIVE)
Berlin sales outfit M-Appeal has sealed further deals for Norwegian director Dag Johan Haugerud's Berlinale Golden Bear winner 'Dreams,' as well as additional sales for 'Sex' and 'Love,' the other films in the director's trilogy. 'Dreams' follows Johanne, a young woman who documents her first love — an infatuation with her teacher — through intimate writing. When her mother and grandmother discover her work, their initial shock turns to recognition of its literary merit. As they weigh publishing it, Johanne is forced to reconcile fantasy with reality, while all three women explore their differing perspectives on love, sexuality and self-discovery. More from Variety 'Queerpanorama' Sells to North America and Other Key Territories Following Berlinale Premiere (EXCLUSIVE) Berlinale Award Winner 'Little Trouble Girls' Sells in North America, U.K. and Ireland and More (EXCLUSIVE) Berlinale Prizewinning 'We Believe You,' a Belgian Family Custody Drama, Lures Buyers for the Party Film Sales (EXCLUSIVE) Vendetta Films has acquired the trilogy for Australia and New Zealand. 'We fell in love with 'Dreams' and we think this unique and mystery-filled spin on the age-old tale of a student falling for their teacher is perfect for modern audiences. We're so excited to bring Dag Johan Haugerud's trilogy to screens across Australia and New Zealand,' Jill Macnab, general manager of Vendetta Films, told Variety. In Mexico, the trilogy will be released by Cinemas Nueva Era, and Edko Films has picked up the trilogy for Hong Kong ahead of the Hong Kong International Film Festival in April, where 'Dreams' will screen as the closing film. Ukraine's SVOEkino has also acquired the trilogy. South Korea's JINJIN Pictures, which previously acquired 'Sex,' the trilogy's first installment, has now picked up 'Love' and 'Dreams' to complete the set. In Singapore, the trilogy has been acquired by Anticipate Pictures, whose recent releases include 'The Seed of the Sacred Fig' and 'Anatomy of a Fall.' The three films will be released in the second half of 2025. 'Whimsical yet incisive, this trilogy introduces fresh concepts of love, sex and dreams in ways that will surprise and stimulate our Singapore audience,' Vincent Quek, founder of Anticipate Pictures, said. Further new sales for 'Dreams' include Cineplex, covering Colombia, Ecuador, Costa Rica and Peru, and Falcon Pictures, which has acquired 'Dreams' and 'Love' for Indonesia. All distributors will release the films theatrically. 'We are delighted to have secured such strong theatrical partnerships for the film,' said Maren Kroymann, managing director of M-Appeal. 'It's incredibly rewarding to see our team's efforts and the long-term strategy we've developed over the past year for the trilogy come to fruition.' The 'Sex Love Dreams' trilogy was produced by Yngve Sæther and Hege Hauff Hvattum for Motlys. The films were supported by the Norwegian Film Institute, Nordic Film and TV Fund, and the promotion activities for the trilogy were supported by MEDIA funding from the European Union. Previously announced deals for 'Dreams' include North America (Strand Releasing), France (Pyramide), Germany and Austria (Alamode), U.K. (Modern Films), Portugal (Films4You), Taiwan (Swallow Wings), Japan (Bitters End) and Bulgaria (Beta Films). Best of Variety The Best Celebrity Memoirs to Read This Year: From Chelsea Handler to Anthony Hopkins New Movies Out Now in Theaters: What to See This Week Oscars 2026: First Blind Predictions Including Timothée Chalamet, Emma Stone, 'Wicked: For Good' and More
Yahoo
02-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
When the Hater Becomes the Creator
In January, a short film full of French stereotypes went viral. Its titular protagonist, Johanne Sacreblu, is the trans heiress to a baguette business in Paris; her paramour is the scion of a croissant company. Everyone is almost always wearing berets and striped shirts, while extras roam the streets in mime makeup. Sometimes, people dressed as characters from the French animated series Miraculous inexplicably appear. Also, the whole thing's a musical. Yet Johanne Sacreblu was not made by a French cast and crew. Rather, its mastermind is Camila Aurora, a trans Mexican director. She wanted to skewer the making of Emilia Pérez, the French-produced, Spanish-language musical set in Mexico City about a Mexican cartel boss who transitions to a woman. So Aurora followed in the footsteps of Jacques Audiard, the French auteur who directed Emilia Pérez: She assembled a team that largely didn't match her characters' cultural backgrounds, staged Johanne nowhere near where it takes place, and apparently did very little research—as Audiard admitted of his preparation for his film—into her story's setting. The result is a strikingly original critique of Emilia Pérez, the movie with the most Oscar nominations this year. The film has been receiving serious backlash online in the form of analytical essays and social-media posts, but Johanne is different. It's an extremely silly, wholly inventive affair, complete with original music and choreography. Since the short's debut on YouTube at the end of January, it has racked up more than 3 million views. As Héctor Guillén, a Mexico City–based screenwriter who began a social-media campaign decrying Emilia Pérez, put it to me, Johanne Sacreblu is 'a sort of fan art.' Make that anti-fan art. Anti-fans, as pop-culture scholars have termed them, are similar to hate-watchers: consumers who become fixated on what frustrates them. Both groups tend to target something in the zeitgeist, but unlike hate-watchers, anti-fans tend to construct something new out of their annoyance or contempt. 'Anti-fans are folks who dig into something they dislike because there's something about it that really irks them,' Melissa Click, an associate professor at Gonzaga University and the author of Anti-Fandom: Dislike and Hate in the Digital Age, told me. 'There's something that they can't just ignore. It calls them in a certain way, in the same way that people who are fans of things get called into something.' And what they produce, Click added, can range from the relatively harmless (a meme or two, posted on a snarky subreddit) to the actively hateful (harassment of the subjects of their ire online or in person). [Read: A film impossible to have mild feelings about] Dislike has long fueled art. Kendrick Lamar's Grammy-winning 'Not Like Us,' a track made amid a feud with the rapper Drake, wouldn't exist without disdain. Nor would the live-action film version of Sonic the Hedgehog, whose design was overhauled after fans protested the character's original look. But the internet encourages the transformation of antipathy into creative fodder, and enables its dissemination. On platforms such as TikTok and YouTube, creators build personal brands off parodying celebrities and constructing elaborate takedowns of what's in the mainstream. They draw dedicated audiences interested in granular interrogations of pop culture. (The video essayist Jenny Nicholson's four-hour dissection of Disney World's Galactic Starcruiser—better known as 'the Star Wars hotel'—went viral last summer.) And the trajectory of Johanne Sacreblu suggests that online success can translate offline; the short film has enjoyed a limited theatrical run in Mexico City. Establishing yourself as a purveyor of anti-fan art seems to be good business, Suzanne Scott, the author of Fake Geek Girls: Fandom, Gender, and the Convergence Culture Industry, told me. Anti-fan art is, she said, 'absolutely more visible as a phenomenon than it once was, and a lot of that has to do with the shareability of digital content … What I think is new and distinct about some of this is you see fans and fan influencers professionalizing themselves around this kind of content.' Michael Pavano, an actor who began posting his impersonations of celebrities during the coronavirus pandemic, has certainly benefited from the spread of anti-fandom. In January, he struck internet gold with a parody of Blake Lively's work in the romantic drama It Ends With Us. He wasn't familiar with the Colleen Hoover novel upon which the film is based; he'd watched the movie one night and wanted to offer some 'playful critique' afterward, he told me over Zoom. The next day, he'd donned a long auburn wig, turned on his camera, and uncannily captured Lively's expression throughout the movie by curling his lips and exaggerating her pout. The clip has accumulated more than 46 million views on TikTok, becoming his most popular upload yet. Pavano followed up by eagerly posting several more takes on Lively, who, as he played her, always seemed unable to change her morose appearance. Before long, however, he began seeing comments that were criticizing Lively herself. These arrived as Lively became embroiled in a legal battle against the film's director, an ongoing, headline-making case that divided viewers of It Ends With Us. Pavano felt that he needed to be more careful about how much Lively-related material he published. He was concerned that his work seemed to pander to the actor's critics, which was not his intention. 'For me, it's not about hate at all,' he said. He paused the impressions, telling his followers at the end of January that he 'might wait a couple weeks before I post her again.' But his new audience never stopped requesting more Lively, and Pavano told me that he felt that the actor's other roles, such as her work in the TV show Gossip Girl, were still worth riffing on—just for 'silly fun.' 'If Blake did reach out and say, you know, I'm not okay with this; this is really hurtful to me, of course I would listen,' he added. 'I would never capitalize on someone else's obvious hurt.' Last Sunday, Pavano indulged his audience by going live on TikTok for 12 hours, staying in character as variations of Lively's roles—including her part in It Ends With Us—the whole time. The relationship between fans and the subjects of their admiration has always been tricky. What begins as support—of a public figure, a pop-culture phenomenon, a franchise—can grow into obsession. The same goes for anti-fans; their dislike can turn noxious, and creators within this genre who attract their own devotees risk perpetuating the cycle. Just as fandoms can become perilously passionate, so too can anti-fandoms. 'People who have hated things have always existed,' Click explained, 'but being able to find other people so easily who also hate the thing you hate is something that's new.' The key to generating anti-fan art that doesn't elicit actual hostility, then, is care—authentic appreciation for the material being judged. Pavano may be mocking Lively's performance, but he's also studying it closely. Whenever he chooses a celebrity or an actor's work to imitate, he told me, he'll practice their quirks in the mirror for so long, he starts to feel like they're a part of him. 'It is sort of like a possession,' he said with a laugh. 'I visualize myself as this person … and I keep doing it until I feel the person.' Someone like the YouTuber Jenny Nicholson, too, is obviously deeply engaged with the various subjects of her critique. She often dresses up in the relevant franchise's merchandise—a headband sporting Na'vi ears while talking about Avatar, for instance—and contributes robust context about a subject's history; she makes it plain that she understands her topic's appeal. The team behind Johanne Sacreblu also scrutinized Emilia Pérez with rigor; the short opens with a number set in the streets of France, the same way Audiard's film does with Mexico. Such analysis doesn't mean that these creators love what they scorn; they establish their bona fides to show how informed they are to viewers who might suspect otherwise. 'They lead with this kind of deep fan knowledge and affect,' Scott said, 'so that when they are critical, it's coming off both as informed and … so you don't get the sense that they're doing it in bad faith.' [Read: The purest fandom is telling celebrities they're stupid] The best anti-fan art produces a clarifying effect, in other words, rather than inspiring pure derision. They're works of respectful rebellion that cut through the growing hum of online chatter and that, Click said, 'might encourage us to become more critical consumers,' the kind who generate thoughtful analyses of pop culture. In the case of Emilia Pérez, the objections to it have grown cacophonous. There have been essays by Mexican viewers denouncing its crude rendering of Mexico's drug-related violence; damning statements from LGBTQ advocacy organizations such as GLAAD, which called the film 'a profoundly retrograde portrayal of a trans woman'; and social-media posts condemning the offensive missives made by the movie's star. But Johanne Sacreblu delivers something fresh along with its creator's evident disapproval of Emilia Pérez. Guillén told me he admired that Aurora, 'instead of just trying to diminish other people's work,' made something original; in doing so, she highlighted what she found ludicrous about Audiard's approach while also offering a dose of humor, not anger. As he put it, 'I think it's way better to create something, right?' After all, without art, there wouldn't be fans—or anti-fans. When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
02-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
When the Hater Becomes the Creator
In January, a short film full of French stereotypes went viral. Its titular protagonist, Johanne Sacreblu, is the trans heiress to a baguette business in Paris; her paramour is the scion of a croissant company. Everyone is almost always wearing berets and striped shirts, while extras roam the streets in mime makeup. Sometimes, people dressed as characters from the French animated series Miraculous inexplicably appear. Also, the whole thing's a musical. Yet Johanne Sacreblu was not made by a French cast and crew. Rather, its mastermind is Camila Aurora, a trans Mexican director. She wanted to skewer the making of Emilia Pérez, the French-produced, Spanish-language musical set in Mexico City about a Mexican cartel boss who transitions to a woman. So Aurora followed in the footsteps of Jacques Audiard, the French auteur who directed Emilia Pérez: She assembled a team that largely didn't match her characters' cultural backgrounds, staged Johanne nowhere near where it takes place, and apparently did very little research—as Audiard admitted of his preparation for his film —into her story's setting. The result is a strikingly original critique of Emilia Pérez, the movie with the most Oscar nominations this year. The film has been receiving serious backlash online in the form of analytical essays and social-media posts, but Johanne is different. It's an extremely silly, wholly inventive affair, complete with original music and choreography. Since the short's debut on YouTube at the end of January, it has racked up more than 3 million views. As Héctor Guillén, a Mexico City–based screenwriter who began a social-media campaign decrying Emilia Pérez, put it to me, Johanne Sacreblu is 'a sort of fan art.' Make that anti-fan art. Anti-fans, as pop-culture scholars have termed them, are similar to hate-watchers: consumers who become fixated on what frustrates them. Both groups tend to target something in the zeitgeist, but unlike hate-watchers, anti-fans tend to construct something new out of their annoyance or contempt. 'Anti-fans are folks who dig into something they dislike because there's something about it that really irks them,' Melissa Click, an associate professor at Gonzaga University and the author of Anti-Fandom: Dislike and Hate in the Digital Age, told me. 'There's something that they can't just ignore. It calls them in a certain way, in the same way that people who are fans of things get called into something.' And what they produce, Click added, can range from the relatively harmless (a meme or two, posted on a snarky subreddit) to the actively hateful (harassment of the subjects of their ire online or in person). Dislike has long fueled art. Kendrick Lamar's Grammy-winning 'Not Like Us,' a track made amid a feud with the rapper Drake, wouldn't exist without disdain. Nor would the live-action film version of Sonic the Hedgehog, whose design was overhauled after fans protested the character's original look. But the internet encourages the transformation of antipathy into creative fodder, and enables its dissemination. On platforms such as TikTok and YouTube, creators build personal brands off parodying celebrities and constructing elaborate takedowns of what's in the mainstream. They draw dedicated audiences interested in granular interrogations of pop culture. (The video essayist Jenny Nicholson's four-hour dissection of Disney World's Galactic Starcruiser—better known as 'the Star Wars hotel'—went viral last summer.) And the trajectory of Johanne Sacreblu suggests that online success can translate offline; the short film has enjoyed a limited theatrical run in Mexico City. Establishing yourself as a purveyor of anti-fan art seems to be good business, Suzanne Scott, the author of Fake Geek Girls: Fandom, Gender, and the Convergence Culture Industry, told me. Anti-fan art is, she said, 'absolutely more visible as a phenomenon than it once was, and a lot of that has to do with the shareability of digital content … What I think is new and distinct about some of this is you see fans and fan influencers professionalizing themselves around this kind of content.' Michael Pavano, an actor who began posting his impersonations of celebrities during the coronavirus pandemic, has certainly benefited from the spread of anti-fandom. In January, he struck internet gold with a parody of Blake Lively's work in the romantic drama It Ends With Us. He wasn't familiar with the Colleen Hoover novel upon which the film is based; he'd watched the movie one night and wanted to offer some 'playful critique' afterward, he told me over Zoom. The next day, he'd donned a long auburn wig, turned on his camera, and uncannily captured Lively's expression throughout the movie by curling his lips and exaggerating her pout. The clip has accumulated more than 46 million views on TikTok, becoming his most popular upload yet. Pavano followed up by eagerly posting several more takes on Lively, who, as he played her, always seemed unable to change her morose appearance. Before long, however, he began seeing comments that were criticizing Lively herself. These arrived as Lively became embroiled in a legal battle against the film's director, an ongoing, headline-making case that divided viewers of It Ends With Us. Pavano felt that he needed to be more careful about how much Lively-related material he published. He was concerned that his work seemed to pander to the actor's critics, which was not his intention. 'For me, it's not about hate at all,' he said. He paused the impressions, telling his followers at the end of January that he 'might wait a couple weeks before I post her again.' But his new audience never stopped requesting more Lively, and Pavano told me that he felt that the actor's other roles, such as her work in the TV show Gossip Girl, were still worth riffing on—just for 'silly fun.' 'If Blake did reach out and say, you know, I'm not okay with this; this is really hurtful to me, of course I would listen,' he added. 'I would never capitalize on someone else's obvious hurt.' Last Sunday, Pavano indulged his audience by going live on TikTok for 12 hours, staying in character as variations of Lively's roles—including her part in It Ends With Us —the whole time. The relationship between fans and the subjects of their admiration has always been tricky. What begins as support—of a public figure, a pop-culture phenomenon, a franchise—can grow into obsession. The same goes for anti-fans; their dislike can turn noxious, and creators within this genre who attract their own devotees risk perpetuating the cycle. Just as fandoms can become perilously passionate, so too can anti-fandoms. 'People who have hated things have always existed,' Click explained, 'but being able to find other people so easily who also hate the thing you hate is something that's new.' The key to generating anti-fan art that doesn't elicit actual hostility, then, is care—authentic appreciation for the material being judged. Pavano may be mocking Lively's performance, but he's also studying it closely. Whenever he chooses a celebrity or an actor's work to imitate, he told me, he'll practice their quirks in the mirror for so long, he starts to feel like they're a part of him. 'It is sort of like a possession,' he said with a laugh. 'I visualize myself as this person … and I keep doing it until I feel the person.' Someone like the YouTuber Jenny Nicholson, too, is obviously deeply engaged with the various subjects of her critique. She often dresses up in the relevant franchise's merchandise—a headband sporting Na'vi ears while talking about Avatar, for instance—and contributes robust context about a subject's history; she makes it plain that she understands her topic's appeal. The team behind Johanne Sacreblu also scrutinized Emilia Pérez with rigor; the short opens with a number set in the streets of France, the same way Audiard's film does with Mexico. Such analysis doesn't mean that these creators love what they scorn; they establish their bona fides to show how informed they are to viewers who might suspect otherwise. 'They lead with this kind of deep fan knowledge and affect,' Scott said, 'so that when they are critical, it's coming off both as informed and … so you don't get the sense that they're doing it in bad faith.' The best anti-fan art produces a clarifying effect, in other words, rather than inspiring pure derision. They're works of respectful rebellion that cut through the growing hum of online chatter and that, Click said, 'might encourage us to become more critical consumers,' the kind who generate thoughtful analyses of pop culture. In the case of Emilia Pérez, the objections to it have grown cacophonous. There have been essays by Mexican viewers denouncing its crude rendering of Mexico's drug-related violence; damning statements from LGBTQ advocacy organizations such as GLAAD, which called the film 'a profoundly retrograde portrayal of a trans woman'; and social-media posts condemning the offensive missives made by the movie's star. But Johanne Sacreblu delivers something fresh along with its creator's evident disapproval of Emilia Pérez. Guillén told me he admired that Aurora, 'instead of just trying to diminish other people's work,' made something original; in doing so, she highlighted what she found ludicrous about Audiard's approach while also offering a dose of humor, not anger. As he put it, 'I think it's way better to create something, right?' After all, without art, there wouldn't be fans—or anti-fans.
Yahoo
23-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘Dreams (Sex Love)' Review: Dag Johan Haugerud's Golden Bear Winner Takes An Unexpected Look At The Mystery Of Desire
Refreshingly unexpected, Dag Johan Haugerud's Dreams (Sex Love) — the first Norwegian film to win the Berlinale's Golden Bear — breathes new life into the often oversimplified genre of sexual awakening that seems to draw on his twinned career in both cinema and books. This headlong, hyper-nuanced account of a teenage girl's first love fuses the interiority of novels and the sensuous embrace of cinema in ways that other films fumble. Led by a smartly underplayed performance by Ella Øverbye, this third, stand-alone entry in a trilogy (released in Norway last October) moves engrossingly between her romantic entrancement and insightful commentary, both her own and her family's. Seventeen-year-old Johanne (Øverbye) is a subdued, pensive teen who seems swaddled in cozy scarves and the Nordic light, taking in more of the world than she ever says aloud. She's surprised by her stirrings of interest in a kind, self-effacing French teacher (Selome Emnetu), and lies around simply trying to figure out what's happening to her. A desire suffuses her, but she gazes at her teacher less as if struck by a lightning bolt and more with the focus of a candle's glow, quietly mesmerized. Her friends sense something's brewing and cluelessly suggest a therapy app; Johanne in turn is gripped by the need to reach out to her teacher, with whom she imagines a certain connection that might not be there. More from Deadline Veteran Korean Actor Kwon Hae-hyo Talks 30-Year Career & Hong Sang-soo's 'What Does That Nature Say to You' - Berlin Film Festival Berlin Film Festival: Norwegian Film 'Dreams (Sex Love)' Wins Golden Bear, Andrew Scott & Rose Byrne Take Acting Honors - Full List Vivian Qu Talks Feminist Thriller 'Girls On Wire' & Frenzied Berlin Red Carpet As Fans Go Wild For Wen Qi & Liu Haocun: "The Screaming Was Louder Than For Timothée" From the start, we're privy to Johanne's ruminations in her daily life through the film's extensive voiceover, which is both written and delivered with a confident fluidity. However overwhelmed and even paralyzed she might feel about her attraction, she's constantly sorting through her feelings and reactions. When she rashly decides to show up at her teacher's doorstep, that visit and the ones that follow are dominated by her reflective narration, which, rather than having a distancing effect, attunes us to the mood and physicality of each moment. Obsessed, Johanne puts her experiences down on paper and entrusts the results to her grandmother, Karin (Anne Marit Jacobsen), an erudite poet living among packed bookshelves. Karin's a sympathetic reader, and less easily shocked than Johanna's mom, Kristin (Ane Dahl Torp), with whom she feels compelled to share the novella-like work. With this sharing of Johanna's inner world, the female-centered Dreams naturally starts phasing in scenes between mother and grandmother that lie completely outside of the teenager's perspective, and reveal subtle generational and personal differences. The older women's responses keep evolving, but Johanne's mom does understandably worry that the teacher has abused her daughter (who's a realistic, adolescent blend of perceptive and naive). It's worth mentioning that Johanne's self-discovery is not portrayed in terms of sexual abandon; when she visits her teacher's flat, it's (almost laughably) for knitting lessons, which have the feel of a lazy, honeyed-tea afternoon. What she commits to paper is another story, however, with explicit detail that raises both her mother and grandmother's eyebrows. But whether Johanne's piece is believed to be true, semi-fiction, idealized, or something else, all feels less important than her own emotionally accurate characterization: it's about her life. That points to another awakening which filmmaker-novelist Haugerud captures so well: the parallel thread of Johanne finding her literary voice. The encouragement of her grandmother gives her a context (as well as surfacing some resentment about her own career), but Johanne still must learn to weather the slippage between what she writes and what people see in her writing. There's also a sense of how the family's relative privilege comes into play, not just in Johanne's upbringing (with access to a country cabin), but also through Karin's point-of-view as a battle-weary feminist activist, who groaned over Kristin's love of Flashdance as a kid. Perhaps another facet of the stability granted by this privilege is that Dreams doesn't lean into Johanne's formative experience as being a same-sex attraction. Haugerud's script even questions the notion of framing it that way, part of the film's affectionate humor: Johanne pushes back when someone classifies her novel as 'a story of queer awakening,' in contrast to a vocal fellow student who introduces himself in class as 'illegal in 69 countries.' Above all, she is still feeling her way through her sensations, and precisely how she will label or express them seems partly a matter destined for her writing. (The teacher, also named Johanna, proves to be a work-in-progress herself, all too human in her own choices.) While Dreams might sound like a novelist's film, it's quite effectively staged, full of subtle decisions in blocking and how the story moves into or out of scenes (like a lovely forest hike between Karin and Kristin). Among the quotidian settings, Haugerud and DOP Cecilie Semec intersperse striking shots of dance and (oddly enough but effectively) vertiginous stairways. One could imagine so much of the film's touches getting reworked in a screenwriting lab — curtail that voiceover, build up the best friend, etc. Fortunately Haugerud and Overbye remain committed to the mystery of desire and the work-in-progress that is life. Review: Title: Dreams (Sex Love) (Drømmer)Festival: Berlin (Competition)Director-screenwriter: Dag Johan HaugerudCast: Ella Øverbye, Selome Emnetu, Ane Dahl Torp, Anne Marit JacobsenSales agent: m-appealRunning time: 1 hr 50 mins Best of Deadline 'The White Lotus' Season 3 Release Schedule: When Do New Episodes Arrive On Max? 'The White Lotus' Season 3: Everything We Know About The Cast, Premiere Date & More 2025 TV Series Renewals: Photo Gallery
Yahoo
22-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Norwegian coming of age film Drømmer wins top prize at Berlinale
The coming of age film "Drømmer," or Dreams, by Norwegian director Dag Johan Haugerud has won the Golden Bear, the top prize of the Berlin International Film Festival, known as the Berlinale, the festival has announced. The feature film is about a young woman who falls in love with her teacher, but the feelings of 17-year-old Johanne, played by Ella Øverbye, are not reciprocated. Motivated by her mother and grandmother, she turns her fantasies and heartbreak into a novel. "Drømmer" is the third part of a trilogy by Haugerud, which is about love and sexuality. Other films awarded prizes The Jury Grand Prix went to "O último azul" ("The Blue Trail") by Brazilian director Gabriel Mascaro. The Jury Prize was awarded to "El mensaje" ("The Message") by Argentinian director Iván Fund. The Chinese filmmaker Huo Meng was honoured for best direction with his social panorama "Sheng xi zhi di" ("Living the Land"). The Silver Bear for best acting performance in a leading role went to Australian Rose Byrne for "If I Had Legs I'd Kick You." Irish actor Andrew Scott was honoured for his supporting role in the chamber play "Blue Moon." He gave a video message to thank the audience. Film about Hamas hostage wins best documentary Radu Jude, who won the Golden Bear in 2021, received a Silver Bear for the script of "Kontinental 25.' The creative ensemble of "La Tour de Glace" ("The Ice Tower") was honoured for outstanding artistic achievement. The award for best documentary film went to "Holding Liat" by Brandon Kramer, which tells the story of former Hamas hostage Liat Beinin Atzili.
