There must be countless films about holidays to Paris. It’s the city where young lovers meet amidst the glittering backdrop of the Eiffel Tower; where history, art and literature converge; where gastronomy is both traditional and innovative. It’s a city where you can both find and lose yourself. In cinematic terms, the possibilities are endless.

However, for Inger (Sofie Gråbøl), Paris is a city of ghosts. It represents a person she once was; a life she once lived. Now being cared for in a group home facility, it’s a busy, fashionable and spontaneous antithesis to her structured, careful day-to-day. But her sister, Ellen (Lene Maria Christensen) and her brother-in-law, Vagn (Anders W. Berthelsen) think a coach trip to the French capital is exactly what Inger needs. And it is this holiday that is at the centre of Niels Arden Oplev’s moving new film, Rose.

From the minute Inger gets on the coach, we can see that she is on high alert. Gråbøl practically ripples with fear as she screens her fellow passengers for any hint that they might not like her. “My name is Inger and I’m mentally ill,” she says into a microphone as each passenger is asked to introduce themselves. Fellow passenger Andreas (Søren Malling) can barely disguise his disgust and discomfort. He is loud and obnoxious with his views on disability, benefits and having his holiday “ruined”. It is characters and ableist dialogue like this that underline how labels can both be helpful yet also riddled with stereotypes. And given that this film is based on Oplev’s own experiences, it is, sadly, likely to be insults and whispers he will have heard before.

So many performances of mental illness feel exactly that – a performance. Unintentionally, actors often rely on tropes or one particular facet, preventing a fully authentic depiction. Gråbøl, however, entirely loses herself in Inger, immersing us in her thoughts and experiences, too. Her voice sounds deeper, cracking when full of emotion. Her clothes are institutionally practical. Her smiles are both wistful and full of sorrow. She is so childlike in her vulnerability, her wide eyes often scanning her sister’s face for help or approval. She manages to somehow capture the exhaustion of such an hourly, daily battle with your own mind. Her tearful breakdowns are absolutely heartbreaking. “I don’t want this anymore! I have to jump in the road!” she cries. Her performance is so full of depth – we see so many sides of Inger beyond her illness – and incredibly sensitive. The Paris landmarks are almost a secondary feature to the story which she delicately unravels.

The film also acknowledges the weight of responsibility that those who care for their loved ones must feel. Ellen and Vagn find themselves sharing a bed with Inger, lest she escape their room via the door or the balcony. You can feel the tension radiating from them, too, as they recite their prepared responses to unwanted stares or make excuses for Inger’s lack of filter. They try to treat some of her behaviours with a bit of levity – for example when Inger doubles over, deciding she doesn’t want to walk, they copy her stance – but you can tell that this is a trip fraught with emotion for all involved. Ellen has to beg her sister to bathe, resulting in a physical and verbal confrontation that makes for distressing viewing.

If you can make it through Rose without weeping, you are made of stronger stuff. Gråbøl’s emotionally charged rendition of La Vie En Rose is surely enough to bring even the strongest of tear ducts to water. The intricate familial relationships that are laid bare, every bit as vulnerable as Inger herself, are portrayed empathetically. Inger’s journey into her past, one seemingly free from mental illness, is a poignant one. The little moments of light peppered throughout – Inger’s bond with fellow traveller Christian; smoking a joint with an Algerian taxi driver; her ability to get the tour group into a D-Day museum – demonstrate the different facets to her illness. She is not a one-dimensional, made-for-cinema type of character. She is a woman of nuance, longing to reconnect with a time in her life that wasn’t ruled by what was going on inside her head.

Rose is a performance-driven piece and Sofie Gråbøl, as you might expect, delivers. This is a tender, sensitive and highly moving portrayal of living with mental illness – not just for the person with the diagnosis, but for those around them. You may have seen a Paris road trip movie before, but you’ve never seen one quite as brilliant as this.

Rose is in selected cinemas and on demand in the UK from the 28th June