The Worst Person in the World (2021)

The Worst Person in the World feels special because it captures the messiness of becoming yourself with a rare mix of wit, tenderness, and clear-eyed honesty—like a romantic comedy that isn’t afraid to tell the emotional truth. Joachim Trier’s filmmaking is nimble and alive, moving through Oslo and through Julie’s shifting ambitions with the kind of grace that makes ordinary moments feel revelatory, and Renate Reinsve gives a performance so precise you can almost watch her thinking in real time. The tone is bright and funny until it suddenly isn’t, not as a trick, but because that’s how life hits: one minute you’re flirting with possibility, the next you’re staring down consequence. It’s not for viewers who want tidy lessons or a conventional love story, but if you’re in the mood for something smart, grown-up, and quietly devastating in the best way, this one lingers.

The Worst Person in the World is trying to capture that messy, painfully relatable stretch of your late 20s/early 30s where love, ambition, and identity keep shifting, and it does so with a smart, novel-like structure and a very committed lead performance. But if you want a plot that drives hard toward clear answers, this can feel like a series of moments and moods where some bigger ideas stay frustratingly in the background rather than getting fully explored. The humor and romance are more observational than crowd-pleasing, and the film’s explicit sexuality and nudity aren’t coy, so it’s not one to watch expecting a cute, cozy rom-com. If you’re up for an intimate character study that’s bittersweet, talky, and emotionally honest (even when the protagonist isn’t), it’s rewarding; if you need tighter storytelling and cleaner moral signposts, you may find it meandering.