Nightwatch: Hitting the High Cs of Terror

Rated R

Shakespeare alone, perhaps, discovered more outrage in Denmark than this Danish thriller, released in 1994. Set in a hospital morgue, it tracks the warping consciousness of a law student (Nikolaj Waldau), whose new job exposes him to dead bodies, necrophilia, and psychosis. Competing for macho honors, our hero and his best friend (Kim Bodnia) confront diabolical doctors and incompetent police while tricking their respective Ophelias (Sofie Graaboel, Lotte Andersen). Like Rosemary’s Baby, this movie pits the ludicrous machinations of the establishment against the nefarious obligations of the up-and-comers. In the process, it unleashes a horde of experiences to bedevil the senses of its fortunate audience.

Pairs on every level mesmerize viewers with alternative possibilities. How many serial killers does it take to create an assembly line of victims? The camera trails the eyes of the watchman, probing every nook and cranny of a morgue which comes alive, in spite of the lethargy of its temporary residents. Toeing the line of the bearable, writer/director Ole Bornedal exposes exchangeable victims, beset by zigzag scars and flowering bruises. Interiors follow each other like sets of Russian dolls. Claustrophobia quickly sets in — keep confining doors open until this movie ends!

The story line tests the extreme limits of friendship. Promises become traps potentially undoing all the dreams of young romance. Blood brothers never accepted a commitment riskier than our heroes: to act on any challenge or lose their contest. Where does courage end and fantasy begin to unravel the plans of nascent professionals? Will their last grab for irresponsible freedom yield two more bodies — before a serial killer can even get to them? As one of their elders quietly intones: “It [a gothic reality] makes you appreciate life.” The same observation applies to this film — a frenzied must-see.

Nightwatch winds up terror tightly by progressing always from the bizarre to the personal. Corpses flop down and then resurrect themselves onto steep platforms, tagged and sleeping under their sheets. Meanwhile, tear-filled eyes reveal the love of a buddy or, maybe, the intensity of unfettered obsession. For the full impact of the macabre original, seek out the newly re-released version, complete with English subtitles.

In perfect collaboration, music and painterly technique conspire here to precipitate high C screams. If art can unfold hallways like lilies into the palest hues of yellow and ivory, get set to smell the awful residue of flowers that “fester,” betraying the “canker” at their core (Shakespeare. Sonnets 94.14, 95.2). While we may believe that disillusionment naturally comes with age, a surprise ending jumps out like ghosts shouting, “Boo!” These couples not only thrive, but do so merrily! Thus, comedy arises in this eerie montage from horror. Where did we hear laughter over so many corpses before? Only over a graveyard in Shakespeare’s Denmark — never in England! (A Fairy Queen, too, may not be all she seems.)

Meg Curtis

Meg Curtis leads a triple life as a creative writer, a college professor and a medievalist. From western New York, she gained insights into wildlife and spiritualism. In Appalachia, she learned to love America’s oldest mountains. She has settled happily, with three southern cats and a basset hound named Mr. Willoughby, in Freemansburg, Pennsylvania.