While Joachim Trier had been crafting short films since 2000 and made his feature debut with Reprise in 2006, it wasn’t until 2021’s The Worst Person in the World that his name truly exploded across international cinema. A film many critics consider one of the finest of the decade, it captures the complexities of modern adulthood with striking emotional clarity. Trier transcends the brutal honesty of our twenties and thirties, those years when we’re expected to have everything figured out but rarely do. I completely agree with his belief that every individual is a work in progress, and while The Worst Person in the World is a wonderful film, it’s not one that became part of my cinematic identity.
Fast forward four years and Joachim Trier makes his grand return with Sentimental Value, a film that has built quite the anticipation since its world premiere at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, where it took home the Grand Prix. Since then, it has made its way through the fall festival circuit, with its latest stop at the 63rd New York Film Festival, where I finally laid eyes on Trier’s newest work.
As the credits rolled on Sentimental Value, I quietly muttered, “Oh, I get it.” In that moment, I fully understood the grasp Trier has held over cinephiles for years. With his latest, he’s achieved that same connection with me. Sentimental Value is a tender reflection on art, family, and reconciliation. It’s a film that explores the emotional inheritance we absorb from those we love and lose through both the beauty and the pain.
Sentimental Value follows the Borg family. After the death of their mother, Sissel, estranged sisters Nora and Agnes Borg are forced to reconnect with their father, Gustav, a once-celebrated filmmaker now haunted by his past. Having abandoned his family years earlier, Gustav believes his new autobiographical project will restore both his career and his legacy. Nora, now a driven stage actress, and Agnes, who has built a quiet family life, represent opposing paths shaped by the same absence of their father. When Gustav offers Nora the lead role in a film inspired by his mother’s tragic death, she refuses, reopening long-buried wounds between the two. Determined to move forward, he casts an American actress instead, hoping the project will not only reignite his art but also repair the fractured bond with his daughters.
As with The Worst Person in the World, Sentimental Value’s screenplay stands as one of the film’s greatest strengths. Trier and Eskil Vogt build their script on raw honesty, refusing to rush toward an emotional payoff. Instead, the duo invites us to sit within the strain of these relationships, crafting a screenplay that feels surgical in how it uses both written and visual language to observe its characters. Within the writing, the generational trauma and heartache are not only felt but deeply understood.
Performance-wise, Sentimental Value is an acting feast. The central trio deliver three distinct yet equally heartbreaking performances. Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas brings a quiet vulnerability that perfectly balances the volcanic presence of both Renate Reinsve and Stellan Skarsgård. Throughout the film, each captures the lingering regret, anger, and cautious hope that drive their attempts to resurrect broken relationships. As with most films exploring father-daughter dynamics, their work hit me on a deeply personal level. As a girl dad, the bond I share with my daughter is the most important relationship in my life, so these performances hold a special place among 2025’s most affecting.
Not to be outdone, Elle Fanning is wonderful. Delivering an emotionally resonant and restrained performance, she embodies Trier’s themes of art and empathy, serving as a mirror for the audience, a muse for those who, like her, are observing and feeling their way through the Borg family’s journey.
It’s safe to say that the effect The Worst Person in the World had for many, Sentimental Value had for me. What begins as a story about grief and artistic obsession transforms into one of life’s most precious gifts: emotional connection. It’s a work of art that lingers, not because of what Trier shows us on screen, but because of the thoughts it stirs about our own families, our failings, and the quiet beauty of trying to heal.
