Okay, let's dim the lights, maybe ignore that tracking adjustment we definitely don't need anymore, and settle in. Tonight, we’re cracking open a film that technically arrived just as the new millennium dawned, Flickering Lights (original title: Blinkende Lygter) from 2000. While it might have missed the peak VHS rental boom by a hair, its spirit—gritty, character-driven, darkly funny, and deeply melancholic—feels perfectly at home alongside the more complex, offbeat gems we pulled from those dusty rental shelves throughout the late 80s and 90s. This isn't your typical Hollywood fare; it's something rougher, stranger, and ultimately, profoundly resonant.
An Escape Gone Sideways
The premise feels almost like a setup for a straightforward crime thriller: four childhood friends, now small-time criminals led by the weary Torkild (Søren Pilmark), botch a job for a dangerous gangster known as "The Faroese." Clutching a suitcase full of stolen cash, they flee Copenhagen, aiming for Barcelona. But fate, engine trouble, and perhaps a deep-seated desire for something else intervene, stranding them in a derelict, isolated former restaurant in the Danish countryside. What begins as a temporary hideout slowly, awkwardly morphs into something resembling... a home? It's a concept ripe for absurdity, and director/writer Anders Thomas Jensen (who would later give us similarly off-kilter masterpieces like Adam's Apples (2005) and Riders of Justice (2020)) leans into it, but never purely for laughs.
The Damaged Goods Quartet
What elevates Flickering Lights beyond its quirky setup is the astonishing ensemble cast, portraying characters who are deeply flawed, often violent, yet achingly human. Pilmark's Torkild carries the weight of leadership like an ill-fitting coat, desperate for an escape hatch from a life he never truly chose. Ulrich Thomsen (later seen in films like Festen (1998) and the Bond film The World Is Not Enough (1999)) is electrifying as Peter, a man simmering with barely contained rage fueled by childhood trauma, constantly on the verge of exploding.
Then there's Mads Mikkelsen, years before becoming an international icon in Casino Royale (2006) or TV's Hannibal (2013-2015), as Arne. Arne is... well, Arne. A quiet, loyal friend with a penchant for firearms and a uniquely pragmatic, almost childlike view of violence and animals. His deadpan delivery provides some of the film's darkest laughs, yet Mikkelsen imbues him with a strange, undeniable soulfulness. Rounding out the quartet is Nikolaj Lie Kaas (another Jensen regular) as Stefan, the youngest and perhaps most outwardly damaged, grappling with addiction and a desperate neediness masked by nervous energy. The chemistry between these four actors is palpable; you believe their shared history, their dysfunctional codependency, and the fragile bonds holding them together against the encroaching darkness of their past.
Finding Meaning in the Mire
Jensen masterfully balances tones that, in lesser hands, would clash horribly. One moment, you might witness an act of shocking brutality; the next, a scene of unexpected tenderness or pitch-black humor. Think of Arne's attempts at hunting, or the group's utterly inept efforts to renovate the restaurant. These moments aren't just comic relief; they reveal character. They expose the men's deep-seated inadequacies and their fumbling attempts to build something meaningful, even if they have no idea how.
A crucial piece of trivia that deepens the film immeasurably is the origin of its Danish title, Blinkende Lygter. It comes from a poem by Tove Ditlevsen about childhood anxieties and the fleeting nature of safety, which Torkild reads aloud in a pivotal, surprisingly moving scene. This isn't just a random detail; it's the thematic core. The "flickering lights" represent those brief moments of hope, connection, or potential peace in lives otherwise defined by darkness and violence. Can these men ever truly escape the shadows of their past? Can this dilapidated inn become a real sanctuary, or is it just another flickering illusion? The film doesn't offer easy answers.
A Rough Diamond Worth Seeking Out
While shot on a modest budget (reportedly around DKK 13 million, roughly €1.7 million), Flickering Lights feels rich in atmosphere and character. Jensen's direction is confident, letting scenes breathe and allowing the performances to anchor the often bizarre narrative. It’s a film that rejects simple categorization – it’s a crime story, a dark comedy, a buddy film, and a poignant drama all rolled into one messy, compelling package. It might have arrived on DVD more prominently than VHS for many, but its raw energy, complex characters, and exploration of broken masculinity seeking redemption feel timeless, echoing themes found in many late-era VHS classics.
Rating: 8.5/10
Flickering Lights earns this score for its sheer audacity, its unforgettable characters brought to life by a stellar cast (especially capturing Mikkelsen and Thomsen just before they exploded internationally), and its unique, challenging blend of humor and heartbreak. It’s a film that sticks with you, forcing you to wrestle with uncomfortable questions about nature versus nurture, the possibility of change, and the strange ways people find—or fail to find—connection. It’s a powerful reminder that sometimes the most affecting stories are found in the darkest, most unexpected corners, flickering uncertainly but burning brightly nonetheless.