A Thoughtful Probe Into Unconventional Relationships

We live in a transitional era regarding relationship politics, as more people carve romantic and sexual lives for themselves outside the prescribed trajectory of love, marriage, procreation and nuclear family. The emergence of LGBT identities into the mainstream has had much to do with this, of course, but our collective understanding of opposite-sex partnerships —  those once deemed merely “normal” — is evolving too, alive to the complexities of bisexuality and open relationships. Screen romance, however, remains largely behind this curve, which is why Dag Johan Haugerud’s new film “Love” feels, in its quiet, conversational way, rather radical: a tender, gently observed relationship study that places as much stock in casual sex as in seeking a soulmate. Following two very different medical professionals on their contrasting quests for intimacy, it’s the rare romantic drama that concedes one person’s happily-ever-after is not necessarily another’s.

The fourth feature by Norwegian novelist and filmmaker Haugerud, “Love” is the second entry in a planned trilogy of self-contained but complementary films about contemporary sexuality and relationship mores. The first, “Sex,” charted the domestic fallout when a happily married, ostensibly straight man impulsively has sex with a male stranger, and admits as much to his wife. Despite the titles, “Sex” and “Love” aren’t separately defined by those terms, as both films examine how the concepts can diverge and overlap in matters of the heart. (It remains to be seen what the third entry, “Dreams,” will bring to the subject.) Intriguing but elusive, “Sex” premiered in Berlin’s Panorama sidebar earlier this year, while “Love,” arguably the warmer and more approachable of the two, benefits from the profile boost of a Venice competition slot. That may prompt global arthouse distributors to lead with “Love,” which requires no familiarity with its predecessor.

Taking place over a three-week period in a balmy Nordic August, the film introduces its two protagonists in the somewhat unsexy environs of an Oslo hospital urology department. Attractive middle-aged doctor Marianne (Andrea Bræin Hovig) is pragmatically talking a patient through his prostate cancer diagnosis, as her younger, shaggy-haired assisting nurse Tor (Tayo Cittadella Jacobsen) provides gentle reassurance from the sidelines. As doctor and nurse talk privately afterwards, we sense a candid, comfortable chemistry between them with no frisson of anything non-platonic. Turns out he’s gay, she’s straight, and while both are single, they’re both on very different searches: She’s into dating, while he’s into cruising, with little interest in anything long-term.

After a blind date with amiable, recently divorced geologist Ole (Thomas Gullestad), a friend of her own best pal Heidi (Marte Engebrigtsen), Marianne bumps into Tor by chance on the ferry home — and is intrigued to learn that the boat is his favoured place for picking up guys. Suddenly, as she recounts her evening to her colleague, she surprises herself with an admission: “I wish I could have had sex with him tonight and never see him again.” To her, the very idea is a tantalising subversion of romantic norms; to Tor, it is the norm.

Yet as Marianne is left pondering the possibilities of one-time trysts — and weighing them up against her conflicted feelings for Ole — Tor is led into unexpected emotional territory by a ferry encounter with handsome older psychologist Bjorn (Lars Jacob Holm, superb). Something sparks between them, even though Bjorn admits to having no sexual urges; days later, they meet again at the hospital after Bjorn receives some bad news, and they begin to find alternative ways to help each other. Haugerud’s airily woven script isn’t shy about hanging on coincidence and contrivance, as its various narrative strands hover between perceptive human observation and playful hypothesis. These exchanges feel relatable even when they don’t feel entirely real.

It’s all gratifyingly grown-up, with a light touch and a mostly straight-faced, off-center sense of humor that don’t undermine the gravity of the subject matter. A subplot involving increasingly neurotic plans by municipal worker Heidi — hilariously played by Engebrightsen as an outright pill in hippyish disguise — for a sex-positive celebration of the city subtly pokes fun at the occasional hypocrisies of effortfully progressive social politics, without getting reactionary about it. The soft, summery pastels of Cecilie Semec’s cinematography and the loose, flutey jazz stylings of Peder Kjellsby’s score are in tune with the film’s mellow puckishness; Hovig and Jacobsen’s wry, watchful lead performances likewise never push too hard.

“Love’s” commentary on modern relations may be more complex and chewy than just “live and let live,” but the film’s calm embrace of whatever works for the individual is refreshingly humane, rhetorically exciting and more than a little hot: We see how Marianne can benefit from diving into the no-strings unknown, just Tor and Bjorn mutually benefit from a committed but unlabelled sort of companionship. It’s a cool corrective to the days when “it’s complicated” was the go-to description for any relationship outside the conventions of heteronormative coupledom. This breezy, sexy, thoughtful film shows that straying from the rom-com ideal can be easier than it sounds, and a bit of fun too.