Hilma (2022)

Hilma is special because it treats the birth of abstract art not like a footnote in a textbook, but like a lived, hard-won act of faith—creative, spiritual, and quietly radical. With a tender, respectful gaze and a heartfelt performance from Tora Hallström, the film invites you into the inner weather of an artist who kept painting even when the world didn’t yet have the language to understand her. The tone is intimate and luminous, more contemplative than sensational, letting the emotions and the ideas bloom at their own pace. If you prefer biopics that race through milestones, this may feel gentle, but if you want a sensitive drama that makes art history feel personal and urgent, it’s deeply rewarding.

Hilma wants to be an accessible, inspirational biopic that finally gives Hilma af Klint her due and frames her art as spiritually and culturally unifying. The problem is it often tells you what to feel in a conventional, slightly pedantic way, smoothing a complex life into a simpler, more sentimental arc. The sexism and obstacles she faces can land as heavy-handed, and the film doesn’t always make the artistic process feel lived-in so much as explained. If you’re looking for a rigorous, textured portrait of a difficult, visionary artist, you may leave underfed—but if you want a straightforward, earnest introduction to her story with some attractive period atmosphere, it’ll do the job.