TIFF Review: The Bothersome Man

The Bothersome Man is a dark, nasty little movie that's never quite as deep or as clever as it imagines itself to be. Based on a Norwegian radio play, the film tells the story of Andreas (Trond Fausa Aurvaag), an office worker who throws himself under a subway train seconds after the film opens. The next time we see him, he's the lone passenger on a battered bus to the middle of nowhere. Stepping out of the bus, Andreas finds himself standing on a wide plain, with dark mountains in the distance. Nearby is the only building as far as the eye can see, an old gas station sporting a makeshift "WELCOME" sign. The station's solicitous attendant drives Andreas to "his" apartment in a large, modern city, and tells him where to go to work in the morning.

This, then, is the afterlife. And, in director Jens Lien's new film, the afterlife looks a whole lot like western Europe today, complete with glass-clad skyscrapers, classical facades, and an old town full of winding streets and elderly people who look like they've lived there for 50 years. Everyone is well-dressed and friendly, albeit it in a superficial way. Marriage is encouraged because it looks good; what goes on inside the home or within the heart is of no consequence. No one actually forms emotional attachments, but the appearance of closeness and happiness is in place, and that's what's important. Food has no taste, alcohol no kick, and it's impossible to die, but hey, those are the breaks.

In a none-too-subtle way, Lien is drawing a parallel between Andreas' existence is that distant, sterile world, and the slick, polish lives the upper classes live in first world nations today. (In fact, given the afterlife's obsession with furniture and fixtures, there's a good chance the place is actually located in a creepy, alternate Sweden.) And there are things here that are potentially interesting: Is survival possible in a world in which superficial happiness is the ultimate goal, and deep, personal connections are impossible? Where do all the unhappy people go? And who, exactly, is in charge of keeping order in this place? Unfortunately, however, Lien seems more interested in his own cleverness than anything else, and often loses focus on his story's initial depth in favor of sadistic, gross-out horror and obvious, tired relationship jokes. He comes across as immensely pleased with himself for comparing the modern world with a hellishly impersonal afterlife, but not very interesting in actually exploring that idea. He'd rather, for example, let us see and hear Andreas repeatedly run over by a train than examine the existential questions his film asks.

Despite these disappointments, however, The Bothersome Man is far from a complete loss. It never looks less than fantastic, and Aurvaag's tired, pale face provides a perfect contrast to the sharp edges and gleaming surfaces around him. There's also a ceiling entirely covered by light bulbs hanging from long cords, the wonder and wit of which almost make the film worth seeing on their own. Additionally, the fact that the film was based on a radio play (and was written by Per Schreiner, the author of that play) results in a movie uncommonly focused on sounds. It's not that the effects in the film are particularly subtle or carefully layered, but simply that they're foregrounded much more than is generally the case. Long sequences are dominated by sound effects, from footsteps, to creaking signs, to the loud and gory (and probably not remotely realistic) sounds of human flesh being demolished by a hurling train. In fact, the plot's central mystery revolves not around a person or event, but rather around a haunting, siren-like sound. Overall, though, the film is a good-looking, rather unpleasant trifle that seems to simultaneously take itself too seriously and not seriously enough, preferring to hide behind its impressive, clever packaging instead of investigating actual philosophical questions.