‘Growth Of The Soil’ review: Herbert Nordrum and Asta Kamma August are exceptional in visceral Norwegian period drama

Dir: Hans Petter Moland. Norway. 2026. 149mins

In the wild expanse of early 20th century rural Norway, a couple slowly build a life from the ground up, working the land and growing a family – only to have everything put in jeopardy by one terrible decision. Hans Petter Moland’s (In Order Of Disappearance, Cold Pursuit) adaptation of Knut Hamsun’s 1917 Nobel Prize-winning novel is an exercise in traditional, deliberate filmmaking, its stunning performances and meticulous attention to detail slowly adding layers to this years-long story until it becomes a richly textured, absorbing portrait of love, sacrifice and survival.

Finely balanced, truly engrossing performances from Nordrum give the film substantial emotional heft

Premiering at Toronto and chosen as Norway’s official Oscar submission, the film next plays San Sebastian and Warsaw before releasing in Norway, Sweden and Denmark at the end of October. It should do well on home turf, and the presence of rising Norwegian star Herbert Nordrum (The Worst Person In The World, Sense And Sensibility) could also help international visibility.

Hamsun’s novel was previously adapted in 1921 by Danish filmmaker Gunnar Sommerfeldt and, like that pre-sound film, Moland’s take finds a great deal of power in silence. Isak (Nordrum) is a focused, taciturn man who, when we meet him, is scratching out an existence alone in Norway’s frigid winter, hunting, fishing and hunkering down under a craggy crevice to sleep. His attempts to build a more permanent shelter are repeatedly thwarted by frozen fingers and misbehaving sticks; one of several moments of wry humour that Moland is careful to seek out amidst the toil and hardship.

Warmth also comes in the form of Inger (Swedish-Danish actress Asta Kamma August), a lone traveller who is taking a sheep across the mountain and has fallen foul of the cold weather. Isak gives her shelter which she accepts, albeit clutching a stone for protection; soon, this hesitant act of kindness develops into a relationship. At first it’s one of mutual survival – they finally construct that shelter together – but an attraction develops, the years pass and they evolve that shelter into a successful smallholding and welcome two sons.

That is, essentially, the crux of Growth Of The Soil; the old-as-time tale of two people finding each other and painstakingly building a life. But Moland and co-writer Gard B Eidsvold (who also plays a kindly police sergeant) are closely attuned to the natural rhythms within this dynamic, breaking the film into chapters (titles include ‘Before Time’ and ‘The Others’) and allowing the low-key drama to undulate with the seasons. Sharp edits from Linda Man turn the trials of winter into the sudden optimism of spring, the passing of time measured in the acquiring of livestock, the building of a stable, the purchasing of a horse and cart.

Finely balanced, truly engrossing performances from Nordrum and August, reuniting after Enst De Geer’s 2023 Karlovy Vary Fipreci prize and Europa Cinemas Label Award winner The Hypnosis, give the film substantial emotional heft. There are no great declarations of love, the lack of sentimentality befitting these practical, no-nonsense characters – attributes made clear in incredible, underplayed sequences in which Isak finds himself trapped under a tree and Inger gives birth alone. United in their shared goals and drawing strength from each other, their chemistry is felt in small moments: the repairing of an axe, the unsubtle cough that Isak gives every time he wants Inger to notice something he’s done, or bought for them – such as a new clock of which they are both immensely proud, even though neither of them can tell the time. It’s a bond baked into the land, one that feels as solid as their handsome bricks-and-mortar home.

Rugged cinematography from Oskar Dahlsbakken captures the sense of this family as an island, expansive shots of the surrounding landscape emphasising its challenging vastness. The views are undoubtedly stunning, close-ups capturing the glory of spring flowers or the abundance of summer vegetables, but we absolutely feel the unending labour that goes into taming such a place. Kasper Kaae’s classical score lingers in the background, giving plenty of space to – and often melding seamlessly with – the elemental, often ferocious sound design that foregrounds the howling wind, the creaking of trees, the repetitive slash of a scythe.

Slowly, inevitably, outside forces begin to make themselves felt: new fangled laws, regulations and taxes threaten the family’s freedom; outsiders encroach on their solitude. And when Inger gives birth to their third child, a daughter who has inherited her own much-despised cleft palate, she makes a desperate decision that shakes the foundations of their existence. Repercussions are devastating and long-lasting for all, the distant rumbles of the newly-opened copper mines an ominous soundtrack for this new chapter in their lives – and for a future that may change everything beyond recognition.