Sara Margrethe Oskal’s The Tundra Within Me defies expectations. Going in, you might presume it to be a drama about the unsettling feeling of returning home for the first time, perhaps with a love story woven into it, where the protagonist comes to appreciate how their hometown shaped their personhood. But what writer and director Oskal charts in her debut feature is something much more unique and nuanced than our traditional films about homecoming. The Tundra Within Me contains an unparalleled urgency and vitality that it stokes through its sweeping emotional scope, exploring and meaningfully challenging the paths — the fruition — of two complexly aching Sámi characters who the film in turn extends a tremendous amount of tenderness toward.
Oskal’s story is deeply complex, but in the way that a singular but crumpled length of yarn winds and furls — though it’s a single thread, the ways in which it winds into itself in unprecedented ways, getting tangled and then untangled, makes it all the more compelling and challenging to watch. The film begins with artist Lena (Risten Anine Kvernmo Gaup) who, with her young son in tow, temporarily moves back to her hometown of Sápmi, a traditional Sámi territory that stretches across the Scandinavian peninsula, from her usual residence in Oslo, Norway. Lena, who has garnered success as an artist in Oslo, has returned for a residency at the local arts center; her current project focuses on capturing and depicting the stories of female reindeer herders in her community. Lena left Sápmi years ago, her departure shrouded in rumors of an alleged shameful act that poisoned her reputation in the community. Half of Oskal’s tale follows Lena as she comes up against resistance from the herders she wants to interview, who remember what she did, and see her as someone who has abandoned their traditions. These herders have a negative reaction to her work, which Lena sees as capturing Sámi women herders’ psyches, but they see as too provocative and affronting of their treasured traditions.
The other half of Oskal’s tale follows Máhtte (Nils Ailu Kemi), a local reindeer herder who hopes to manage his family’s reindeer herd. When Máhtte and Lena begin a romance, the entire town notices and becomes wary, especially Máhtte’s mother, who considers Lena to be an outsider, and her son to be squandering his family’s legacy.
The Tundra Within Me is trenchant as it is unique: as it delicately depicts the tradition and weight of reindeer herding within Sámi culture, it paints emotional and psychologically incisive portraits of Lena and Máhtte, going on to fit them into a single sweeping love story as poignant as the romance in something like The Way We Were.
Oskal’s tenderness in crafting her characters is this film’s gleaming beacon, a landmark achievement. Lena isn’t so much a woman who is running away from her heritage and culture as she is a Sámi woman striving to get her community to make space for her, to understand her. Oskal upturns the traditional homecoming narrative by laying bare the uniqueness of an Indigenous woman’s place and distinct trial, by portraying Lena’s journey as more than one of understanding the importance of one’s roots. I wouldn’t say of Lena that she begins the film as a woman who fled from her culture or is trying to hide her identity; rather, she is looking for a community that might understand her pain. Lena is proud of her identity in Oslo, and she is a woman who initially leaves her hometown because she can’t find anyone who might hold space for her psychological unraveling. Lena’s homecoming takes place under the guidance of an understanding of her community, and has more to do with working to have her community understand her through her art, through the fact that she’s happy despite the fact that she has chosen an unlikely path.
Oskal shows great respect and love for Lena by crafting her as a character who is self-aware — it is evident that the time she spent in Oslo has allowed her to build up the confidence and vocabulary (in Lena’s case, visual and artistic) to tackle sensitive matters with her Sámi community. This is to say that Oskal’s Lena is delightfully beguiling, captured in the film as a woman who has grown, and will continue to grow, examining herself through new lenses constantly.
And then there’s Máhtte, who Oskal captures with an equally tender hand. Máhtte is stretched thin between obligation to his mother (who wants him to remain manager of his family’s herd), a desire for autonomy, and his love for Lena, of which his mother disapproves. As Máhtte is stretched thin, Oskal captures a man fraying, a man about to be broken, about to be lost. Kemi is a marvel as he carries Máhtte with grace and frailty, depicting the character as though in a frieze painting, caught in a whirlwind, striving for happiness and fulfillment against impossible odds.
The Tundra Within Me is a visual marvel. As cinematographer Anders Hoft captures the beauty of Lena’s home, its rolling snowy plains and the unruly elegance of the reindeer that traipse and glide, Oskal captures two unique characters with each their weighty circumstances and freighted psyches fighting for each other and, ultimately, for themselves. The film presents a love that strives for stability despite the differing and opposing understandings of home presented by its dual protagonists.
The Tundra within Me contextualizes the love story within a uniquely modern setting (which Oskal manages to rightly ground in socio-political awareness) and reinvigorates it, growing grander and more textured and stunning than any expectations might allow.
