When Anders Thomas Jensen released The Last Viking in October 2025, he delivered something that feels increasingly rare in contemporary cinema—a film that’s willing to be genuinely funny while also being genuinely sad. This Danish black comedy, which premiered out of competition at Venice in August before its wider release, doesn’t neatly fit into boxes, and that’s precisely what makes it matter.
The setup is deceptively simple: after fourteen years in prison for robbery, Anker gets released and reconnects with his brother Manfred, who happens to be the only person on earth who knows where their stolen money is hidden. The catch? Manfred’s mental illness has erased the memory. What follows is a road movie that’s part heist film, part character study, part meditation on family obligation and what we owe to people we love. In just 116 minutes minutes, Jensen manages to build something complex without ever feeling bloated.
What’s immediately striking about The Last Viking is how it refuses easy sentiment. This isn’t a heartwarming story about two brothers bonding—it’s messier and more uncomfortable than that. Anker spends much of the film angry, frustrated, and dealing with the reality that his brother might never remember where the money is. The film sits with that frustration instead of smoothing it away. That tension is where the real drama lives.
The casting is what elevates everything. Mads Mikkelsen, known for playing complex antagonists and morally ambiguous characters, brings a quiet desperation to Anker. He’s not charming or clever—he’s exhausted and trying to figure out how to move forward. Nikolaj Lie Kaas, as Manfred, could have been a sympathetic plot device, but instead he’s unpredictable and frustrating, sometimes heartbreaking. Their chemistry crackles precisely because they don’t always like each other. Sofie Gråbøl rounds out the cast with a presence that adds another layer to their dynamic.
Jensen’s direction here is confident without being showy. He knows when to let a scene breathe and when to cut away. The film moves between comedy and genuine pathos without signaling the shifts—you laugh at something absurd, then suddenly you’re watching a man confront the reality of his choices. That tonal control is harder than it looks.
> The film earned a 7.1/10 rating from 67 votes, which tells you something about how it’s landing with audiences—it’s not universally beloved, but it’s clearly connecting with people who want something that doesn’t play it safe.
What’s interesting about The Last Viking in the broader landscape of 2025 cinema is that it’s uninterested in being likeable in a conventional way. Hollywood has spent years optimizing films to feel good and affirm our worldview. This film doesn’t care about that. It’s Danish, it’s dark, and it trusts you to sit with discomfort. That kind of artistic confidence—backed by Jensen’s pedigree as a writer and director—feels like a counterpoint to a lot of what else is getting made right now.
The film’s production came through Zentropa Entertainments and Film i Väst, institutions with real creative credibility in Nordic cinema. That matters because it means Jensen had the support to make exactly the film he wanted to make, not a watered-down version designed to appeal to everyone. You can feel that freedom in every frame.
Looking at its place in Jensen’s career specifically:
- He’s a writer-director who understands genre but isn’t bound by it
- His previous work has shown a consistent interest in morally complicated characters
- The Last Viking represents him working at full confidence with a strong ensemble
- The film proves he can sustain tension across a feature-length narrative without resorting to conventional plot mechanics
The Venice premiere was significant too—that’s not a festival that takes just anything, and the fact that Jensen’s film played there out of competition speaks to how the international film community views his work. It’s recognition, yes, but also validation that this kind of filmmaking still matters to serious cinephiles and industry figures.
Culturally, The Last Viking arrives at a moment when we’re seeing more Nordic noir and Nordic dark comedy making inroads globally. The success of shows and films from that region has created space for films like this—intelligent, dark, and uncompromising. Jensen’s contribution to that conversation is distinctive because he’s interested in character psychology as much as narrative mechanics. The heist is almost secondary to watching these two men circle each other and the history between them.
It’s not a film for everyone, and that’s fine. Not every film needs to be. The Last Viking is a film for people who want cinema that challenges them, that makes them sit with discomfort, and that trusts their intelligence. In that respect, it’s exactly what we need more of—bold, specific, and unapologetically itself.
