The Devil’s Party: Flickering Shadows, Odd Laughs

So, Friday night, I saw “The Devil’s Party” and it’s stuck in my head like an old Kent track you loved but pretended you didn’t—dark, strange, kind of messy.

Let’s talk cast, quick. You’ve got Lena Olin holding court as if she’s channeling every Skarsgård and old Bergman ghost at once. Not sure how she keeps pulling it off, but there’s this restless fire in her eyes. And there’s Mads Mikkelsen, who just looks so Swedish but isn’t (I KNOW, right?), moving through the film like he’s got three secrets and a toothache. The director is Thomas Vinterberg (yeah, the dude from “Another Round”), which, at this point, makes you expect either heartbreak or kitchen table chaos.

The film basically throws you into this cult-ish get-together in Denmark—oily candles, whispers, and that feeling from your grandma’s old stuga when it’s winter and the wind shakes the windowpanes. Some scenes looked so much like a smår gloomy February afternoon in Malmö that I almost put on my scarf indoors.

Confession: The main plot about old friendships turning sour took me straight back to a night in 1997 out by the Umeå river, sitting and drinking hembränt, arguing about some Lars von Trier film. Thought we’d be mates for life. Spoiler: we don’t talk these days, either.

Honestly, the pacing limps now and then, and some dialogue clangs like a dropped surströmming tin. But there’s these moments—quick glances, Mads’ half-frown—that feel painfully real, like when you see your ex at a Systembolaget queue and suddenly forget your own name.

Weird, messy, mostly haunting. Definitely worth chatting about over a coffee at Pressbyrån. Or in a snowstorm, if you prefer.

watch the full movie on Mavshack Movies on YouTube

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