The Last Viking (2025)

Anders Thomas Jensen doesn’t make films; he builds meticulously crafted, tonally volatile explosive devices disguised as character studies. Den sidste viking is no exception, representing both a triumphant return to form and a deepening of the writer/director’s singular obsessions. It is a film that seamlessly stitches together gut-punch drama with absurdist comedy, resulting in a work that is as emotionally resonant as it is unpredictably hilarious.

At the core of The Last Viking are dad issues and the lingering scars of childhood that shape entire lives—a theme Jensen has mined before, but here it's rendered with unflinching clarity. Absurdity ramps up in live-action as Anker (Nikolaj Lie Kaas), fresh out of prison for robbery, reunites with his brother Manfred (Mads Mikkelsen), who was entrusted with hiding the loot but now suffers from dissociative identity disorder (DID). Their fractured, toxic, yet undeniable bond is the bruised heart of the film.

Jensen’s classic formula is perfected here. The film operates in a world just a tilt to the left of our own, where profound human tragedy collides with the utterly ridiculous. One moment you’re grappling with the deep-seated scars of childhood neglect, the next you’re witnessing a surreal, slow-motion Viking daydream or a bizarre domestic dispute involving ancient weaponry. This balancing act is Jensen’s masterstroke.

Jensen brilliantly externalizes this inner turmoil through a striking animated Viking fable that weaves through the narrative. This isn’t mere decoration; it’s the son’s psyche rendered in myth. The cartoon saga of heroes and monsters becomes a direct, tragic metaphor for his longing for a fearless father and his own battle with deep-seated terror. The fable’s heroic fantasy brutally contrasts with their grim reality, making the emotional payoff all the more powerful.
Furthermore, Jensen makes this fable literal in the film's most poignant subplot: the relationship between the "ugly" man and his beautiful wife.

The weird couple—the grotesquely burned man and the beautiful woman—becomes the fable’s living embodiment. At first, their relationship appears unbalanced, almost grotesque itself, defined by contrast and surface value. But when the woman loses her beauty, their bond doesn’t collapse—it clarifies. Stripped of illusion, their relationship grows stronger, more equal, and more brutally honest. In metaphorical terms, they step fully inside the logic of the animated fable: only when the fairy-tale promise of beauty is destroyed can something real survive.

Seen this way, the couple completes the fable’s lesson.

The genius twist? Jensen then doubles the fun—and the thematic depth—by unleashing a band of eccentric psychiatric patients onto the protagonists' path. These “lunatics,” each delightfully unhinged, act as a funhouse mirror to the main characters' own fixations. Their chaotic escape provides riotous, unpredictable comedy, while slyly asking: who is truly coping worse?

Of course, this being Jensen, the path is paved with sudden, brutal violence—both cathartic and grotesque—and dialogue that cuts as deep as any axe.

Den sidste viking is a triumph. It’s a profound exploration of paternal failure and inherited fear, wrapped in the riotous, bloody, and absurd package that only Anders Thomas Jensen can deliver. The animated fable elevates it from great drama to modern myth—a punchy, unforgettable film about the monsters we inherit and the heroes we must become to defeat them.

The Last Viking is stupidly sentimental and surprisingly sweet. It’s a film about a bunch of individuals who are completely and totally dysfunctional on their own but somewhat functional together.

https://bit.ly/MadsViking

"Anker" (Nikolaj Lie Kaas) has just returned to his sister's home after spending a fourteen year spell in custody for an armed robbery that netted DKR41 millions (that's about £4.5 millions) that has hiterto been unrecovered. Now we know that he gave the loot to his brother "Manfred" (Mads Mikkelsen) to bury out at their late mother's rural home, and so he hopes that's all been done and that they can go out and retrieve it. The snag is that his brother suffers from an associative disorder; has now taken to calling himself "John" and despite both carrot and stick approaches from his sibling, isn't proving very co-operatvive on the treasure hunt front. To make matters worse for "Anker", he gets a visit from the menacing "Friendly Flemming" (Nicolas Bro) who wants the cash for himself - and he's not a gentle giant to be messed with. For their own safety, "Anker" now reckons they might have more chance if they head out into the countryside so rent a lodge at what was their family home from the somewhat dysfunctionally wed "Margarethe" (Sofie Gråbøl) and her husband "Werner" (Søren Malling) and he hopes he can persuade his brother to locate the bag. "John" thinks he is really John Lennon - even if he can't sing a note, nor can he play the guitar, so the enigmatic "Lothar/Keld" (Lars Brygmann) - whom they met at the institution where his suicidally-inclined brother was being kept, suggests they might have better luck if they re-assemble the Beatles - only using other characters with the same mental issues as "John", and who fancy themselves as Ringo, Paul and George! Believe it or not, thanks to a brief trip to Sweden for one man who thinks he is George and Paul (and Bjorn from ABBA, too) they manage to assemble a sort of Beatles v.2 - but with the nasty "Flemming" still wanting his cash - is there any chance he will find his money in time, or is he doomed to spend what little time he looks like having left playing his own version of "Holes" amidst the fir trees? This is a darkly entertaining comedy with virtually nothing off limits as it races along through a series of scenarios that can be extremely violent and/or border on the slapstick. Mikkelsen has virtually no dialogue, but masters the role of his imbalanced character really quite subtly, especially as the backstory drips through and we get some fairly obvious clues as their traumatic childhood and the likely causes of his illness and dependency. This is not just a comedy, though, and through some fairly perceptive eyes it allows us to take a look at family relationships, at love and loyalty, of alcoholism and of greed - but all against a backdrop that diffuses the intensity of those elements with silly antics with a staple gun and "John" reckoning he is still a Viking of old communicating using ancient runes. It pretty much hits the ground running and if you like your humour encased in nails, then you ought to enjoy this.