Dawning is a lot to take in. It’s dark, bleak, and unmistakably touched by the shadow of Ingmar Bergman, but that’s only the surface. What makes it truly consuming is writer and director Patrik Syversen’s ambition. Digging into themes such as miscommunication, isolation, and grief while colliding genres of family drama, intimate character study, and slasher into an experimental experience that doesn’t flinch and won’t hold your hand.
We follow three sisters, Kristine (Kathrine Thornborg Johansen), Cecilie (Silje Storstein), and Esther (Marte Magnusdotter Solem) as they retreat to their family’s vacation home in the wake of the youngest sister’s (Kristine) second suicide attempts. When news reaches that their abusive mother has passed away, the two elder sisters decide not to tell the youngest, to spare her the emotional pain. However, the moments that secrets begin to be revealed things begin to unravel when a mysterious man shows up on their property.
From its breathtaking black-and-white cinematography to the near-absence of a score and its reliance on patient, unbroken long takes, Dawning pulled me in almost immediately. The opening act is intimate, documentary like, pulling the audience into the orbit of these three sisters. This orbit allows the audience to get a grasp of these three sisters, their relationships with each other, their relationship with their abusive mother, and the small details of the world. At any given moment, the calm can snap into a storm of raw emotion as the sisters play a tightly-knit game of cat and mouse as they sift through each other’s lies, omissions and half-truths. None of them will say it out loud, but they’re all carrying the weight of grief, trauma, and petty resentments, fumbling toward truths they may not be ready to hear. And just as it seems they might finally reach some fragile reconciliation, Dawning swerves as death arrives, sudden and unflinching, and the film transforms into something far darker.
It’s here that Dawning rips itself away from its intimate family drama and jolts into something closer to the raw adrenaline of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. From that moment forward, the film kicks into overdrive. The cinematography grows frantic, the sound sharpens and crashes, and the editing pulses like a pounding heart as the sisters scramble to survive. Whether this transition works or not will depend on the viewer. I’m still processing it myself, but there’s no denying the rush. In the rare pauses, the film drifts into a dreamlike haze, slipping through the sisters’ fractured memories as they fade in and out of consciousness. The abruptness of this shift leaves me with one lingering frustration: I’m not sure what I’m meant to take away from it all, beyond the stark reminder that serial killers exist and that it’s best to speak on your unspoken emotions as you never know when Death comes knocking at your door.
Overall, Dawning is a lot of movie. It’s ambitious and overwhelming at times as it’s not afraid to push its audience to the edge. Even if its arthouse sensibilities or its reckless mashup of genres are not for you, there is no denying that Dawning is crafted with immaculate care. The direction is confident, the black-and-white cinematography is strikingly beautiful, and the performances from the three actresses are raw and filled with intensity. Their work keeps the story grounded, even when the film itself veers into more experimental, chaotic territory. Yes, the narrative will undeniably divide audiences. Some will see brilliance in its boldness, while others may feel frustrated by its abrupt turn, but what cannot be dismissed is its vision. Dawning knows exactly what it wants to be, even if it leaves you unsettled, questioning, or unsure of what to take from it. And in that way, it will haunt you for a while.
My Rating: B
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