Utøya: July 22

Brilliant use of the techniques of cinéma vérité make for a disturbingly realistic experience

Når en mann kan forårsake så mye ondt - tenk hvor mye kjærlighet vi kan skape sammen [When one man could cause so much evil - think about how much love we can create together].

• Stine Renate Håheim (Utøya survivor); July 23, 2011

Utøya 22. juli is an aesthetically fascinating, pseudo-documentarian examination of the 2011 Utøya massacre, told from the perspective of one of the youths trapped on the island, rather than the killer, the police, the parents, or the courts. Decidedly different from Paul Greengrass's recently released Netflix film, 22 July, the makers of Utøya 22. juli have little interest in either overt political contextualisation or the aftermath of the massacre. Comparisons are, of course, inevitable, as the two films will undoubtedly prompt debate as to the ethics of recreating such a contemporary tragedy. However, what's interesting is that Greengrass isn't overly interested in the massacre itself, focusing instead on the repercussions and subsequent trial, attempting to explicate some of the far-right political motivations. In this sense, Utøya 22. juli and 22 July complement one another in such a way as to provide a reasonably inclusive overview of the motives, the act, and the punishment. Where Utøya 22. juli is especially laudable, however, is in its extraordinary and thematically justified aesthetic design, which elevates it from a fine film to a superb one.

Written by Anna Bache-Wiig and Siv Rajendram Eliassen, from a story treatment by Erik Poppe (Tusen ganger god natt; Kongens nei), who also directs, Utøya 22. juli is based exclusively on the testimony of survivors, but the characters are fictional, with the protagonist a composite of several different people, experiencing on her own what they did collectively. The film begins with the detonation of a bomb near the Statsministerens kontor [Office of the Pr...