Another Round (dir. Thomas Vinterberg, 2020) — Review

How does one feel watching a high school teacher chug vodka in the toilets and proceed to walk headfirst into a wall? Judgemental, normally. Concerned, perhaps. And yet, because this is Denmark, Another Round (originally Druk, the Danish term for binge drinking) puts an ambivalently stylish spin on the well-worn topic of the midlife crisis. Hailing from a country with one of the hardest drinking cultures in Europe, and a director known for laying down the militant aestheticism of Dogme 95, this bro-centric boozeup was never going to be The Hangover.

As a reflection on the collective madness of people’s relationship with alcohol, and thus with each other, Another Round has its charms - even if it shares the unsteadiness and self-indulgence of its protagonists at times. Vinterberg’s latest Danish-language film turns the pomp and austerity of the director’s style - with heavy notes of the Dogme manifesto and its vow of ‘cinematic chastity’ - on a ragtag band of middle aged teachers. It’s quite the change from the typical Hollywood treatment of an easily demonised group. High school teachers, let alone middle aged ones, so often serve as a punchline, or at best hope to stumble into some kind of crackpot ‘last hurrah’ over a few pints at their local, chasing the highs of their lost youth. Here, though, we get the refreshing perspective of the circle of life: the kids are just as fated to a life of alcoholic joys and failures as their supposed guides.

As the lead, Mads Mikkelsen gets a break from his own stereotyping across the pond: the erstwhile homoerotic European villan of Casino Royale and Hannibal returns to his arthouse roots as Martin, an unglamorously rumpled history teacher who inspires nothing but apathy from his students and family. (And, it must be said, the audience, for the first stretch of the film). When Martin gets weepy at the 40th birthday of his friend and coworker Nikolaj (Magnus Millang), with the rest of their staffroom crew Tommy and Peter (Thomas Bo Larsen and Lars Ranthe), the gang decide to test a pseudo-scientific theory that humans are born alcohol deficient. Will a constant blood alcohol level of 0.05% cure their generally flaccid vibes? Or is that just age? We all know the answer, but as so often in the classroom, it’s the working out that counts.

Vinterberg’s ode to alcohol could come across as irresponsible in its openly celebratory, almost grateful portrayal of the social power of the stuff. The schoolroom setting seems to suggest that alcohol, at its best, lets people get back in touch with the deathless spirit of youth and community, seen glamorously at the start of the film as a pack of teens scoot around a lake swilling cans. The ‘lake challenge’ embodies much of Another Round’s position on the line between pitiful and defiantly human; the film’s portrayal of Danish drinking culture from diametrically opposed points on the dance from cradle to grave is both fantastical and realistic in the way that only a proper bender can be. As the teachers bound merrily off on their spiral into wilful alcoholism - “we’re not alcoholics, we decide to drink!” - the viewer comes on a parallel journey of the mixed horror and enthusiasm of their liquid courage. All too quickly, reactions from the wincing (drinking in the gym cupboard?) versus the reluctantly impressed (you managed to pin the blame on the students?) start to pile up, obscuring the initial judgement of the premise.

Even as the demon drink appears to lubricate the woes of the gang, bringing them together for some episodes of bloated brooding and others of Alan Partridge-esque hilarity, the tinge of truth in the form of clear-eyed sadness saves the film from spiralling into an extended Smirnoff ad. Alcohol doesn’t solve any of their problems; it just puts them in touch with them in a different way, one which foregrounds the insane dangers and delights of daily life in more vivid colours. The painful honesty under a middle-aged fantasy of getting sloshed at work comes through in the overlap between filmmaking and real life, most strikingly in that Vinterberg’s 19 year old daughter Ida was killed in a car crash four days after production began. Nonetheless, it continued, filming in her old school and in her previous classroom. On a less heavy note, Mikkelsen’s under-recognised background as a contemporary dancer forms the basis of the real resolution of the film, which involves not just passive imbibing but a glorious outdoor jazz sequence. Booze, Vinterberg suggests, is neither the problem nor the solution; it’s just part of the process.