Vildanden

Since both parents have passed on, only Hedvig and her older siblings live in the once-splendid, now-derelict family mansion. Hedvig, at 17 the family’s youngest member, spends her days mainly taking care of a wild duck injured by a neighbour. The other two run a photographic studio in a nearby town that doesn’t seem to feel any need for a business like this. Enter the oldest of the siblings, Karin, who left the house years ago and returns solely to sell the estate. Whatever thinnest of threads held the four children together now snaps.

Nadja Ericsson’s debut is an intimate family drama set in a difficult-to-tell time – it’s the past, suggested by a few details of clothing, furniture, manner of speech, and that’s all we need to know. In the same way that Henrik Ibsen’s eponymous 1884 play is evoked through merely a few specifics like the name Hedvig, the photographic studio, the wild duck, of course, and the dramatic moments of the livsløgn (life's lie) – the delusions people have about themselves and the world that finally destroy them as well as, all too often, the people around them.

Vildanden is classic to the core – a gem of tact and discretion, of breezes more than gusts, of semitones and muted colours.

– Olaf Möller