by MATTHEW HAYS

I Am Dina, the strikingly shot feature from Danish director Ole Bornedal, opens with an horrific scene. Set in Norway in the 1860s, it has one sweet innocent little girl inadvertently cause a fiery accident in which her mother is severely burned.

As the little girl looks on, shocked, various adults attempt to save mom. But it’s too late; alas, covered in severe burns, the saintly maternal figure dies. Little Dina is left to be brought up by her father, who is suddenly very, very distant indeed. He blames poor little Dina for killing mom, helping to make the wee Dina, already reeling from the loss of her mother, an emotional train wreck.

This scene unfolds in bold colours, gorgeously captured by the camera, in a style that is operatic. The trouble with this film is, the stylistic volume remains cranked to 11 throughout; there’s never any let-up, there are never any shifts in pace—it’s one long haul, in which we are asked to be knotted up in Dina’s stress from start to finish, feeling every emotional roller coaster the movie attempts to take us on.

Dina is brought up by a kind servant, but eventually loses him too. Dina is forced into an arranged marriage. Then she is widowed, ultimately set upon by her evil step-children, who want the inheritance booty for themselves. It’s all a bit much, and since Bornedal has taken up so much time setting up these abrasive theatrics, we’re left with little actual character development that might make us convinced to care about anyone on screen, including Dina.

Fittingly, French cinema icon Gérard Depardieu has a supporting role in I Am Dina. And funnily enough, the big-screen mainstay—who is now severely at risk of becoming the French equivalent of William Shatner—becomes emblematic of the film itself: overblown, bloated, histrionic and drunk on its own hysteria. :

I Am Dina opens Friday, Nov. 22

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