A movie about cultural differences is naturally fascinating, especially when it shows traditions and customs that are new to me. This is my intro to Cristian Mungiu, a renowned Romanian director, known for his honest and complex looks at society and politics. To say this Palme d’Or winner is thought-provoking is putting it mildly.

Sebastian Stan plays Mihai, the head of the Gheorghiu family, who moved from deeply religious Romania (where 97% of people were Christian at that time) to Norway, one of the world’s most secular and progressive nations. Stan reunites with his A Different Man co-star Renate Reinsve, who plays his Norwegian wife, Lisbet, whom he met at a mission group in Bucharest. The Evangelical Christian family chose to move to Lisbet’s hometown to be near her parents and family.

At first, everything is fine for the family. We watch the children get dropped off at school and meet the friendly headmaster, Mats Halberg (Markus Scarth Tønseth). The two older kids, Elia and Emmanuel, quickly become friends with Mats’ daughter, Noora, who lives nearby and is an adventurous teenager with a rebellious streak.

Before the film gets to the main conflict, Mungiu gives clear signals about how the school and community judge Gheorghius’ strong Christian faith. For instance, Mats shows strong disapproval when Elia plays classic Christian hymns on the school piano. They view the Gheorghius family’s choice to ban smartphones and prevent their kids from using YouTube as a troubling sign of a home based on fear and control.

When Elia shows up at a physical education class with bruises on her shoulder, her teacher immediately thinks her parents physically abuse her. Soon the child protection agency steps in, and this powerful group quickly takes the children, even the baby still nursing, away from Mihai and Lisbet. The moment when teacher Frida (Lisa Loven Kongsli) and agency worker Gunda (Ellen Dorrit Petersen) question Lisbet in her home is tough to watch. Lisbet is visibly shocked by the claim that she harmed her children.

Stan and Reinsve are both excellent here—they really dig into that raw, emotional wreckage and the inner chaos of watching your family torn apart. Reinsve shows profound vulnerability as a mother, helpless to keep her family together. Stan is nearly unrecognizable, bald and wearing glasses, showcasing his versatility as an actor. He is more stoic and understated, but he brings real depth and genuine empathy to Mihai, who isn’t immediately likable.

Mingu wrote the screenplay based on a real case from 2015 involving the Bodnariu family that gained worldwide attention. I’m struck by how powerful Norway’s child welfare agency, Barnevernet, is. While their intentions are good, its blatant overreach is quite alarming. The family was barely given any chance to respond before their kids were taken away.

The film’s title is absolutely spot-on. A fjord is a long, deep, narrow waterway surrounded by tall cliffs, which is typical of Norway’s landscape, captured beautifully by DP Tudor Vladimir Panduru. It’s a perfect metaphor for what happens to the Gheorghiu family, as they get sucked into a cold, deep bureaucratic nightmare by Norwegian ultra-modern institutions that look all calm and peaceful on the outside.

Stan has defended the film against claims that it’s ‘anti-woke,’ ‘supports abuse,’ or is a ‘MAGA movie,’ which is absurd. Most of those who bash this film probably haven’t even seen it. He astutely asks, ‘When did conservative become so wrong?’ The sheer amount of online aggression aimed at anything labeled ‘traditional’ or ‘conservative’ is pretty glaring in our hyper-polarized world right now. The film shows that the secular, progressive crowd often says they welcome immigrants and accept their differences. Yet they may quickly reject these same immigrants once they discover those newcomers hold traditional religious views that don’t match the state norms or their own beliefs.

Growing up in a culture without laws against physical punishment, this story strikes a chord with me. It makes me wonder what it would be like if my own family faced similar circumstances. My grandmother used to hit me and my brothers with a stick broom as punishment, leaving marks on our legs. She wasn’t motivated by religion—it was simply how many Asian families disciplined children back then.

It’s worth noting that Mungiu approaches this story from a secular perspective, and Fjord is not a faith-based film. He presents the story objectively, avoiding simple religious messaging. He doesn’t present the Gheorghiu family as saintly or innocent victims. Their parenting methods appear too harsh, and their points-based reward system can be considered backwards. However, the film shows their humanity through everyday scenes—eating dinner together, laughing, and praying as a family. These moments reveal a close-knit group with real love and connection.

This makes it painful to watch such a family destroyed by a rigid system, especially since the Norwegian public had already condemned them before they even stepped into the courtroom. The whole courtroom scene reeks of xenophobia, disguised as an excuse of ‘protecting the children.’ I have to admit that I got riled up a few times by the overt lack of grace towards the Romanian family. It’s a study of extremes, as Mihai too resorts to desperate measures by engaging the Romanian parliament to help get his children back.

Mungiu also exposes divisions within the faith community itself. Lisbet’s Norwegian relatives side with state authorities and push her to follow protocol and fully cooperate. Interestingly, it’s Mats’ own wife, Mia (Lisa Carlehed). She shows compassion toward the Gheorghius and becomes their attorney. Mia supported them before they even went to court. She defends them when Mats attacks their faith, telling him that ‘that’s not what they’re on trial for.’ Through her investigation, Mia discovered that Mihai and Lisbet’s views on LGBT issues may have been central to what happened.

What’s missing from the story is the kids’ point of view. We barely get to see Elia and Emmanuel on screen, even though the movie does show Noora getting increasingly worried about her buddies ending up in foster care. I’d have liked to see the crisis partly through the children’s perspective, specifically how they’re dealing with the emotional fallout of being separated from their parents and other siblings.

That said, I find the film quite absorbing; the nearly 2.5-hour runtime went by relatively quickly. One can tell early on that this story isn’t heading toward a neat resolution. Denying us a sense of closure, the ending delivers a heartbreaking final image of the permanent, haunting divide between these two worlds that refuse to compromise.