Glasgow Film Fest – Blind (Eskil Vogt, 2014)

Blind, the impressive debut feature from Norway’s Eskil Vogt feels both confident and accomplished from the start, guiding you through a small group of characters that become so tightly intertwined, it becomes difficult to tell one from the other. It delves into their personalities, human struggle and the idea of loneliness, creating a film that’s almost disorientating to its audience.

Choosing to confine herself to her high rise apartment in Oslo, a blind woman fantasises about the life she cannot see. One in which her husband’s infidelities and her friend’s sexual deviancy are occurring behind her back. But as the story she writes progresses, it becomes clear that her fantasies could become something a lot more tangible.

It opens as an almost Malick-like montage of observations; describing trees and German Shepherds in the way that our protagonist once knew them. As her visual memories fade, her visceral instincts grow, forming an image of the world around her that’s terribly pessimistic. In it’s favour, it doesn’t skim the surface, instead choosing to decipher possibilities within it. Whilst most filmmakers would be satisfied giving a gentle nod towards something like an addiction to porn, Vogt chooses to dive in headfirst. Within the first few minutes of the film, there’s a seriously uncomfortable collection of pornographic clips that instantaneously question the film’s ability to gain any sort of release. However, as a result, you gain an understanding of the film’s sleazy side character. Even when he engages in emotive conversation, you’re reminded of his indecency. It does deal quite well with subtlety too. There’s a heartbreaking scene in which she lies in bed, next to her husband who claims to be on his computer sending work emails. Instead, he’s engaging in a sordid chat with a woman who lives in the city; another character simultaneously living an unfulfilled life.

And it’s here that the problem lies. Beneath every scintillating side story, there’s a diversion that suggests that everything you’ve watched is artifice. What starts as a gratifying, social drama soon turns a little too convoluted to follow clearly; admittedly never to the point that it becomes disengaging.

Blind manages to be equal parts personal and perverse; juggling the human senses and realigning them in a manner that’s impressive, palpable but maybe a little too incoherent to be truly affecting.