Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value stuns Cannes with Renate Reinsve’s raw homecoming tale.
In the electric buzz of the Cannes Film Festival, where cinema’s boldest voices vie for attention, Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value has landed like a quiet thunderbolt—a film that doesn’t shout but resonates, drawing you in with its tender ache and sharp-eyed humanity.
Fresh off the global embrace of The Worst Person in the World, Trier returns to the Croisette with a story that’s both a homecoming and a departure, a delicate dance of family ties and personal reckonings that’s already stirring Palme d’Or whispers.
The plot, as revealed in Variety’s coverage, centers on Nora, a celebrated actress played by the luminous Renate Reinsve, who’s summoned back to Oslo after decades abroad when her aging father falls ill.
Her return isn’t just a physical journey but an emotional excavation, as she confronts her estranged sister, a steely turn by Andrea Berntzen, and the legacy of a family heirloom—a piano—that’s more than just wood and keys. It’s a symbol of inheritance, guilt, and the music of lives left unplayed.
Trier, co-writing with his longtime partner Eskil Vogt, spins this into a narrative that’s equal parts intimate and expansive, a chamber piece with the soul of a symphony.
Trier’s touch here is unmistakable. He’s always been a filmmaker who finds the epic in the everyday, and Sentimental Value is no exception. The camera lingers on Reinsve’s face—those eyes that can flicker from warmth to wariness in a heartbeat—as she navigates the cluttered terrain of her childhood home.
There’s a lived-in quality to the film’s world, a texture that recalls the restless energy of Reprise or the melancholic drift of Oslo, August 31st. Yet this feels like Trier stretching into new territory, blending his signature introspection with a broader canvas of familial fracture and repair. “It’s about what we inherit, not just objects but emotions,” Trier told Variety, and you can feel that weight in every frame.
The performances are the film’s beating heart. Reinsve, reteaming with Trier after her breakout in The Worst Person in the World, is a revelation—less the free-spirited millennial of that film and more a woman weathered by time, her poise masking a storm of regret.
Berntzen, as the sister who stayed behind, matches her with a bristling intensity, their scenes crackling with the kind of unspoken history that only siblings can wield. And then there’s Inger Heldal as the father, a fragile yet towering presence whose silence speaks volumes.
It’s a trio that turns domestic drama into something primal, their chemistry a tightrope walk between love and resentment.
Cannes greeted Sentimental Value with the kind of fervor that signals a contender: a robust ovation at its premiere, critics buzzing in the Palais corridors.
Early reviews, as Variety notes, praise its emotional precision and Trier’s deft hand, with some calling it his most mature work yet. The Palme d’Or chatter isn’t just hype—this is a film that feels poised to linger in the awards conversation, its quiet power a stark contrast to the festival’s flashier fare.
But what makes Sentimental Value sing isn’t just its craft—it’s the way Trier wrestles with the messy stuff of life. The piano, a relic from the sisters’ late mother, isn’t just a prop; it’s a ghost, a stand-in for all the things we can’t let go of yet can’t fully hold onto.
The film’s rhythm is deliberate, almost meditative, giving space for the silences to speak as loudly as the dialogue. Cinematographer Jakob Ihre bathes it in a soft Nordic light, all muted blues and grays, while Ola Fløttum’s score—a spare, piano-driven thread—echoes the story’s emotional pulse.
Sure, it’s not perfect. The pacing might test some viewers, its slow burn occasionally teetering toward inertia. And the symbolism of the piano, potent as it is, risks feeling a touch too neat in a film that otherwise thrives on ambiguity. But these are quibbles in the face of what Trier pulls off: a story that’s as much about the spaces between people as the people themselves.
In a year when cinema’s been wrestling with its own identity—blockbusters duking it out with auteurs—Sentimental Value feels like a clarion call for the small and the true.
It’s Trier doubling down on what he does best: peeling back the layers of human connection with a gaze that’s both ruthless and kind. Think of it as Scenes from a Marriage shot through with a modern Nordic chill, or a less ostentatious cousin to Bergman’s family sagas.
Compared to The Worst Person in the World, it’s less playful, more pensive—a shift from the thrill of becoming to the ache of being.
As Cannes rolls on, Sentimental Value stands as a testament to the enduring pull of stories that don’t need to scream to be heard. It’s not just a triumph for Trier or Reinsve or the Norwegian new wave—it’s a win for anyone who believes cinema can still cut to the bone.
Whether it snags the Palme or not, this is a film that’ll stick with you, like a melody you can’t shake, a memory you didn’t know you had.
Source Variety
