Hawaii, Oslo begins with the image through a kaleidoscopes viewfinder, segueing into an aerial shot of the Norwegian capital. It’s a neat, if not particularly original, allegory for the diversity of human lives. A man runs through a downtown street pursued by another on a moped. The runner veers into the road straight into the path of a speeding ambulance. There is a collision witnessed by several onlookers. Over the course of the next two hours, via flashback to the previous day, Hawaii, Oslo presents the stories of those present in this opening scene.
There's nothing new in using multiple storylines to reveal the complexity and interconnection of people's lives. Robert Altman adapted unrelated Raymond Carver stories and poems to make Short Cuts, and p. t. Anderson borrowed that film's structure for his own Magnolia. Hawaii, Oslo has been frequently compared to both but this might be a little unfair. If those movies are about the way in which lives are connected, then Erik Poppe's second feature suggests what happens when those connections unravel. Where Altman and Anderson weave their disparate tales together culminating in climactic earthquakes and frogfalls, Poppe starts at this point and then rewinds 24 hours.
So, we have the two young, delinquent, boys estranged from their mother. The psychiatric patient, with jailbird brother and long lost girl, who is so unable to deal with life that he runs, literally, from even the most minor of stressful situations. Most heartbreakingly, there is the young couple whose newborn child cannot survive outside the womb. If there has ever been a more potent cinematic metaphor for the pain of separation, I’ve never seen it.
Most heartbreakingly, there is the young couple whose newborn child cannot survive outside the womb. If there has ever been a more potent cinematic metaphor for the pain of separation, I've never seen it. Poppe and his screenwriter Harald Rosenløw-Eeg clearly feel a good deal of sympathy for their characters – something that is essential in making the film work so exceptionally. This is helped immeasurably by fine performances and beautiful, luminescent photography from frequent Lukas Moodysson collaborator, Ulf Brantås. Some of the nocturnal, deserted Oslo scenes have the texture of a dream. Along with the Yann Tiersen-esque minimalist score, the cinematography lends the film an almost hyper-real aura at times. There are also some sly nods to Wong Kar-Wai (current master of multi-part tales of urban alienation) along the way. Several minor plot elements seem to have come straight from Wong's early Chungking Express. With its final glorious shot, the film pulls together all of its storylines yet still manages to be wonderfully ambiguous. If you found Magnolia both overblown and pretentious or last years Babel risible and obvious, then Hawaii, Oslo might be the perfect antidote. Very highly recommended.