The Worst Person in the World
Overall Rating: ★★★★ 1/2
Pop Culture Footprint: Strong within cinephile circles; a defining modern international film that helped elevate Joachim Trier and brought wider attention to character-driven storytelling
Rewatchability: 4.5/5 — deepens emotionally with each viewing, especially as life experience catches up to its themes
Makes You Think: About identity, timing, relationships and the balance between control and surrender in shaping your life
Conversation Starter: Yes — particularly around Julie’s choices, modern relationships and societal expectations, especially for women
Holds Up: Absolutely; its themes feel timeless and arguably hit harder with age
Where I’d Place It: Among the most essential character dramas of the 21st century; not flashy, but deeply resonant and quietly powerful
★★★★ 1/2
#95 – The Worst Person in the World (2021)
From The New York Times: The 100 Best Movies of the 21st Century
Directed by Joachim Trier
Something is fitting about revisiting The Worst Person in the World a few years after its release. Even though it’s not that old, it’s the kind of film that feels tied to a very specific moment in life. And watching it again, with a bit more distance, hits differently.
This was my second time seeing the film, and while I remembered being impressed the first time (I originally landed at four stars), I was surprised by how much deeper it hit me on rewatch. What starts as a simple, familiar story gradually becomes something far more emotionally immersive by the end.
Directed by Joachim Trier, the film follows four years in the life of Julie, played by Renate Reinsve. She’s restless, searching and constantly shifting—moving between careers, relationships and identities, never quite settling on a definitive version of herself. And in that way, she becomes incredibly relatable.
At its core, this is a film about that in-between stage of life, your late 20s into your 30s, when the stakes start to feel real. The choices you make begin to carry weight. Career, relationships, the question of family—these aren’t abstract ideas anymore. They start to define what comes next, and that pressure can be overwhelming.
Julie’s relationships mirror that internal conflict. Her connection with Aksel (Anders Danielsen Lie) feels grounded and intellectually stable, while her relationship with Eivind (Herbert Nordrum) is more spontaneous and emotionally open. What works so well here is that the film doesn’t reduce this to a simple love triangle. Instead, each relationship represents a different version of the life Julie could choose, and you understand why she’s drawn to both.
Structurally, the film is divided into 12 chapters, along with a prologue and epilogue. It’s a device that gives the story a novelistic, episodic and reflective quality, mirroring the way we tend to look back on our own lives in fragments rather than a straight line.
What stood out most to me this time is just how emotionally “lived-in” the film feels. It’s not flashy. It doesn’t rely on big cinematic swings. Instead, it lives in conversations, quiet moments and small decisions that slowly build into something meaningful. By the end, I found myself far more invested in these characters than I initially expected.
There’s also a subtle but powerful idea running underneath it all: the tension between control and surrender. We like to think we can plan our lives, map everything out and move forward with intention. But sometimes life has other plans. There’s a moment near the end that almost acts like a button on the film—where those two ideas meet. Where personal agency and life’s unpredictability collide. And in that space, Julie seems to find a kind of balance. It’s not perfect, but it feels honest. And ultimately, it leaves you with a sense of resolution, even if the road to get there is difficult.
If there’s anything that holds the film back from feeling completely perfect, it’s in some of its more stylized artistic choices. For the most part, the film is grounded and straightforward in how it’s shot and edited, but occasionally, it takes more experimental turns.
Some of these absolutely work. The standout is the now-iconic sequence where Julie imagines the world stopping around her as she runs through the city. It’s beautifully executed (both technically and emotionally) and captures that feeling of being at the center of a pivotal decision, where everything else fades away. It’s one of the film’s most memorable and relatable moments.
Other choices didn’t land as strongly for me. There are moments—like a stylized scene involving Aksel later in the film—that feel visually out of step with the rest of the movie. I understand what Trier is going for, but it briefly pulled me out of the experience.
Similarly, there’s a psychedelic sequence that leans into Julie’s inner turmoil and anxieties, particularly around expectations of motherhood. It’s visually bold and thematically relevant, but it didn’t fully connect with me. That may be more of a personal disconnect than a flaw in the film, but it’s one of the few moments that didn’t completely land.
Performance-wise, the film is exceptional across the board. Renate Reinsve is phenomenal, bringing both charm and vulnerability to Julie in a way that makes her feel fully human, even when her decisions are messy or frustrating. After seeing her work here and in Trier’s later projects, it’s easy to see why she’s gaining more recognition.
Anders Danielsen Lie, in particular, stood out even more to me on rewatch. His performance as Aksel is deeply raw and affecting, and some of his scenes hit with real emotional weight. The dynamic between him and Reinsve creates some of the film’s most powerful moments.
Herbert Nordrum’s Eivind is more understated by design. He’s not explored to the same depth as Aksel, but that feels intentional within the story. While his performance is solid, he does feel somewhat overshadowed by the emotional complexity of the other two.
In the end, The Worst Person in the World is a film that absolutely deserves its place on any list of essential modern cinema. It’s a defining work for Joachim Trier. It’s the film that really put him on the map for many audiences and it’s easy to see how it paved the way for the continued momentum of his career.
It may not be flashy, but it’s deeply human. And sometimes, that’s what resonates the most.
