Nordic Watchlist shares their review of Anders Thomas Jensen’s The Last Viking from Glasgow Film Festival

Anders Thomas Jensen (Men and Chicken, Riders of Justice) has long carved out a singular space in Danish cinema, blending absurdist humour, bruising violence and unexpected tenderness in ways that feel both anarchic and deeply humane. The Last Viking continues that tradition, exploring the lingering wounds of childhood, the fragility of identity and the strange, stubborn bonds of family. What begins as a crime‑tinged homecoming quickly unravels into something far more eccentric and affecting, framed by a storybook myth that mirrors the characters’ own search for belonging. 

The film sees Jensen reunite with a lot of familiar faces to bring together a story of violence, trauma and difference. Anker (Nikolaj Lie Kaas) has been released from prison after a fifteen-year sentence following an enormous robbery.

His brother Manfred (Mads Mikelsen) now goes by the name of John W. Lennon, and is living with their sister Freja (Bodil Jørgensen), where he keeps stealing the neighbour’s dogs. Before being sent to prison, Anker entrusted his brother to safely stash his cash at their childhood home. Going back there to retrieve it, however, proves challenging for several reasons. 

The dark humour that is sprinkled throughout this film is nothing short of genius at times. At their childhood home, which is now an Airbnb, Anker and Manfred meet fellow psychiatric patients who also believe they are members of the Beatles. “Haman also thinks he’s Björn from ABBA. He also thinks he’s Heinrich Himmler, which got us into trouble on the ferry.”

Lars Bryggman’s Lothar retorts without a hint of sarcasm. Since the Beatles and ABBA are at the heart of this film, we are also treated to unexpectedly fantastic versions of Chiquitita, Thank You for the Music and Twist and Shout. And, in amongst some more disturbing moments, we are treated to cartoon-character violence, such as a frying pan to the face. 

As you might expect, Mads Mikkelsen is utterly brilliant as Manfred / John. He is diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, and, through a series of sepia-toned flashbacks, it becomes clear that his childhood was incredibly traumatic.

Mikkelsen approaches the role with a palpable anxiety – Manfred is always scanning the faces of those around him, waiting for social cues that he will never fully understand. Whilst he might say the wrong thing at the wrong time – “How can you two be married when you are so good looking and he is so ugly?” – he also retains a childlike innocence and vulnerability. He sweetly asks Anker if he wants to share a bed if he is scared, and lights up with joy when learning the guitar. 

The cast reads like a “who’s who” of Danish film and television, with the likes of Lars Ranthe, Sofie Gråbøl, Nicolas Bro and Søren Malling all with plenty to do. Ranthe and Bro’s characters, in particular, lend a terrifyingly unhinged violence to the film that is quite shocking at times.

Indeed, the flashbacks to Anker and Manfred’s childhood provide some of the darkest moments of the film. As the camera pans through the soft greenery of the forest, you would expect their school days to be idyllic, peaceful. Instead, we see their father whip them, verbally degrade them and inflict cruel punishments on them. It’s a small wonder that Manfred remains a quivering wreck with a penchant for jumping out of windows or moving vehicles. 

Jensen, and his extremely talented cast, expertly weave together darkness and light. Everyone ends up (physically and emotionally) bruised but, for the most part, they are somehow content, much like the Vikings we meet in the storybook. The unadulterated joy on Manfred’s face as he plays guitar and waves to his brother, his safety, his home, is enough to reduce even the strongest of tear ducts to a quiver. 

The Last Viking, ultimately, never loses sight of the humanity beneath its chaos. Jensen balances brutality with warmth, absurdity with sincerity, crafting a story that acknowledges how trauma shapes people without denying them the possibility of connection or joy.

By the time the film returns to its storybook framing, the metaphor feels earned: these characters, like the Vikings of legend, have weathered storms that should have broken them, yet somehow emerge with a fragile but genuine sense of peace. It’s a testament to Jensen’s storytelling – and to the extraordinary ensemble he directs – that a film so steeped in violence and trauma can end on a note of such unexpected grace.

The Last Viking will screen at Glasgow Film Festival

“Jensen balances brutality with warmth, absurdity with sincerity, crafting a story that acknowledges how trauma shapes people without denying them the possibility of connection or joy“

The Last Viking is screening at Glasgow Film Festival – any further news of a UK or USA release we will keep you posted on.