7 minute read
Małgorzata Komor | When Silence Says More than Words Ever Could
from Issue 11
Małgorzata Komor | When Silence Says More than Words Ever Could
Recently, I saw a film that instantly became one of my favourites, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I enjoyed it so much. While it did feature complex characters and an engrossing plot, typically associated with highly acclaimed cinema, I felt it wasn’t the answer I was looking for. Finally, it came to me. I realised that what made the film stand out was the dialogue, or rather, often its absence. In the most important scenes, the characters don’t deliver long, flowery monologues, exchange heated lines, or shout with tears streaming down their faces. Instead, they usually resort to silence. In the case of this film, it works perfectly well.
The Promised Land (2023) is a historical epic directed by Nikolaj Arcel. The film takes place in 18th-century Denmark and tells the story of a retired army captain, Ludvig Kahlen (in this role Mads Mikkelsen), who takes it upon himself to tame the desolate Jutland moorland, cultivate its soil, and form the first settlement on its lawless grounds. Along the way, he meets Ann Barbara (played by Amanda Collin), a runaway who finds refuge with him.
Then, one night, a young girl called Anmai Mus (Melina Hagberg) sneaks into Kahlen’s house, but the man kicks her out, arguing that they barely have enough food for two people and can’t take her in. Despite that, she does not leave. Until the very end of the sequence, no words are uttered. The only sounds we hear are footsteps and a creaking door. In the shot where Anmai stands in front of the house, the sky takes up most of the frame. Its cold, blue tones contrast with the inviting glow coming from the lantern inside, which highlights the juxtaposition between a safe shelter and the dangers of untamed nature. She spends the entire night in front of the house, hoping to be let in. The next day, Kahlen is shown organising the books on his shelf. This can be seen as emblematic of his deep-seated need for order and structure, which is one of the main reasons for not letting Anmai in: it would be a diversion from his meticulous plan. We then see Ann giving him a stern look, making him finally acknowledge that the girl should be welcomed into their household. Kahlen opens the door and makes an inviting gesture towards Anmai Mus, who comes running inside. A high-angle shot in this scene – with the camera looking down at the girl – emphasises her vulnerability and showcases her dependence on Ludvig and Ann.
This is one of the most crucial scenes in the film, as it alters our perception of the protagonist and reveals that he cares for more than just his settlement plan. And yet, there’s no dialogue. Everything we need to know is shown through camera angles, colours and, most importantly, silence. Not only does it allow us to imagine what is going on in the characters’ minds and deeply immerse ourselves in the scene, but it also shifts our focus to the details that otherwise would go unnoticed.
Later in the film, Ann Barbara is imprisoned after killing a nobleman. The man falsely claimed Kahlen’s land as his own and was prepared to do everything to gain it, even if it meant killing its owner. Ann saved Kahlen’s life at the cost of her own freedom, leaving him and the girl as the only ones on the farm. Consequently, Ludvig and Anmai Mus grow very close. The bond they created over the years makes their parting later in the film even more heartbreaking. When Anmai leaves the nest, there are almost no words exchanged between her and Ludvig – she only thanks him for everything and leaves. One might imagine that this would make the characters look rather indifferent. Nothing could be further from the truth. It takes only one glance at the screen to realise the immense weight of this scene. It’s visible in the way Ludvig encourages her to follow the path to a new life with one simple nod, in Anmai running to hug him one last time and in the wistful look on Ludvig’s face with sad, teary eyes. Anmai leading a life that she chooses for herself is the only thing he desires more than her staying with him.
Most of the emotional tension in their parting scene is conveyed through closeups, enabling us to focus on the characters’ feelings, while the latter part of the scene is dominated by long shots. As Anmai is leaving, Kahlen stands in front of his house, with vast fields visible in the background. This measure makes his silhouette smaller and more distant, which can indicate Ludvig’s loneliness, since he is now going to be the only person remaining on the farm. The long shots can represent a detachment from the previous stage of his life that he shared with Anmai and contrast the affectionate close-ups that showcased their bond. Throughout, the only thing that we can hear is melancholic music in the background, which slowly increases in volume until Ludvig is left alone. This symbolises the intense emotions that he experiences. Similarly, the complete absence of the score in the next scene signifies the emptiness he now has to live with.
In the final sequences of the film, Kahlen tries to keep up with the regular work on the farm after Anmai Mus’s departure. He dutifully completes his usual tasks, but the loneliness that bears down on him is clearly visible, especially in the high-angle shot of him eating alone in an empty, quiet house. The vastness of the moorland and extended shots of him working on the farm reflect the emptiness within him. The entire sequence is swamped by dark, greyish tones, which further emphasise his melancholy. However, as he leaves the settlement, the sun finally shines, and everything seems at least a bit brighter. He ventures to free Ann Barbara from a prison transport in the last possible attempt to help her, as she is supposed to be transferred to Copenhagen for involuntary servitude. The rescue scene isn’t shown, but a close-up of open shackles lying on the grass near an empty carriage is just enough to piece everything together.
In the next shot, they approach the seashore on horseback, something Ann has always dreamt of doing. A calm sea and the green hills of the Danish coast stretch in the background. This natural landscape contrasts with the gloomy atmosphere of the empty farm, evoking a sense of peace. The significance of this moment is heightened by slow, melancholic music, which gradually becomes more powerful throughout the scene until the very end of the film. Furthermore, the sea they are nearing may symbolise freedom, but at the same time, the unknown, as they leave everything behind, willing to start from scratch.
What I love about The Promised Land is that it leaves ample space for viewers to interpret the events. This approach to dialogue aligns perfectly with the film’s pure and beautiful simplicity. When I watch it, the silence echoes in my ears, allowing me to fully immerse myself in the moment, concentrate on the experience, and notice details that might otherwise be overlooked.
