History & Film | “They Don’t Make Them Like This Anymore”: The Promised Land
WRITTEN BY BETHANY LATHAM
If there are multiple films set in 1750s Jutland, I’m woefully uninformed about them, so when I came across The Promised Land (titled Bastarden, “the bastard,” in Danish), its unique historical location was a draw. Based on the novel Kaptajnen og Ann Barbara (The Captain and Ann Barbara) by Danish author Ida Jessen, which was itself based (loosely) on the life of Captain Ludvig von Kahlen, The Promised Land has been described as a Nordic Western epic.
The film opens with titles across a forbidding landscape detailing that the king (Frederick V) wants settlers lured to the vast heath of Jutland so the colony can increase his wealth, but this is a land plagued by outlaws, brutal elements, and barren soil. All who have attempted cultivation have failed miserably: “The heath cannot be tamed.” The scene switches to the dimly-lit interior of the “Poorhouse for Veterans,” where Silesian war veteran Captain Ludvig Kahlen (Mads Mikkelsen) fastidiously polishes a medal before pinning it to his uniform and striding to the Ministry of the Treasury. He has a plan for colonization and an innovative crop to cultivate, which the foppish ministers scoff at from this “presumptuous soldier in a flea-ridden uniform.” But when he notes he’ll finance the venture himself using his pension, they agree; it’s a win-win. They’re out nothing when Kahlen fails, and meanwhile they can pretend to the king that they’re pursuing the royal pet project of settling the heath. In return for success, Kahlen wants a noble title, estate, and servants.
The film warrants the Western designation for a few reasons: it is technically “West”– Jutland makes up the western, continental peninsular portion of Denmark, as well as parts of what were traditionally German territory. There are settlers sent out into a vast, difficult frontier to homestead, and interactions with Taters (Danish Travellers, or Romanisael) and their nomadic existence on the heath evokes the dynamic between the Native Americans of the American West and its early settlers. There are outlaws, sudden violence, men on horses with guns, campfires on open range. The film’s score is orchestral, usually swelling or ominous strings underscoring sweeping cinematography that showcases both the harshness and beauty of the heath, and its emptiness, much as the American West is often shot in films. Against this background, Kahlen, alone, augers the soil again and again, through all kinds of weather, day and night, testing, seeking. He finally finds what he’s looking for and begins building his house (Kongenshus, “King’s House,” an ostentatious name for a building barely distinguishable from his barn) with a motley crew of men from the local village and two runaway “tenants,” Johannes and his wife, Ann Barbara. They’re on the lam from a cruel local landowner. Though feudalism is supposedly past, the plight of Johannes (Morten Hee Andersen) and Ann Barbara (Amanda Collin) illustrates that it’s actually de facto alive and well. A Tater child (Melina Hagberg) and kind-hearted local priest (Gustav Lindh) complete Kahlen’s immediate circle.
Of the heath, novelist Jessen states that Kahlen is “going to war against everything that’s fundamental to that place.” She was “captivated” by this outsider who not only seeks to prove something, but also to become something other than what he is, something he simultaneously hates and covets: noble and wealthy. “The heath is a fascinating space because it is completely empty,” Jessen says. “There is a wonderful liberation in being allowed to retreat to such a space, where there is only the necessary.”1 The novel is intentionally unsentimental, “showing” not “telling”; the characters have no interior monologues, thoughts, flashbacks. It’s an approach that translates well to film, and a choice Jessen made for a reason: unlike we moderns with our boundless comforts and free time to constantly complain, this is a period and a place that doesn’t lend itself to navel-gazing or talking about how everyone feels – there’s simply too much work to be done and adversity to overcome in order to survive. There isn’t time or effort to be spent on anything that isn’t, as Jessen puts it, necessary.
Mikkelsen shares an understanding of how this historical mindset informed his character in particular and character interactions in general: “If you live in the 1750s, you don’t come in from a hard day’s work and talk about your day. That kind of behavior belongs to now. It doesn’t belong to then.” Thus, there are long stretches with little dialogue, especially out on the heath, where Mikkelsen excels at conveying the essence of stoic determination through expression alone. Kahlen is single-minded, unfailingly stubborn, confident in his abilities and his sense of righteousness. He is also hard. One isn’t meant to like him, at first. He will need to be fully revealed; he will need to grow. It’s a near-lost skill called character development.
Yet even in the beginning, he appears to much better advantage when compared to his adversary, Frederik (de) Schinkel (Simon Bennebjerg). Schinkel is the local landed baron; his father scraped from humble origins to win wealth by hard work and perseverance (from “two cows and a plow”), just as Kahlen intends to do, but Schinkel has always been spoiled by privilege. Schinkel insists on being called de Schinkel as he thinks it sounds more aristocratic, and his megalomania is all-consuming. Bennebjerg affably delivers insult after insult from an eminently punchable face. From the beginning, though Kahlen’s attempt to settle the heath costs Schinkel nothing but ego, Schinkel cannot abide it. Schinkel insists the land is his, not the king’s, and uses his position as a county judge to make his whims, however twisted, the law. He sabotages, he rapes, he tortures, he murders with impunity. And most of all, he cannot cease to wage his self-imposed battle against a man who refuses to bow to his will. As Mikkelsen says of Kahlen, “If he could bend his morals just a little, life would be so much easier for him, but he won’t do it.”2 This leads to a seemingly endless round of setback after setback after setback, to the point where Kahlen’s striving begins to feel Sisyphean — every step forward is met with three back — and yet he persists. Every man has his breaking point, and the viewer is left wondering how much this man, no matter how indomitable, can take, or what he’s willing to sacrifice in the obsessive pursuit of his goal. Nordic films aren’t known for happy resolutions — where will all this end?
The contrast between Kahlen’s hardscrabble rusticity on the heath and the ease, beauty, and sophistication of Schinkel’s estate are aptly conveyed by the cinematography, which focuses on suffused candlelight for evening scenes (some have compared the film’s look to Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon) and bright, elegant interiors during the day. Among Schinkel’s lovely possessions is his noble cousin, Edel Helene (Kristine Kujath Thorp), who loathes him but is powerless to stop the engagement her father has forced her into … unless she can find another wealthy match to offer as substitute. Enter even more motivation to succeed for the tireless Kahlen.
The scope of the film feels epic for a few reasons: its run-time (over two hours) showcasing months of plot, its setting, and its large cast of characters. The Promised Land’s writer and director, Nikolaj Arcel, has “a deep-seated love for epic movies,” which he feels are “a little bit like reading a novel.”3 And for this particular story, it was the combination of the intimate and the epic that appealed — to create a film epic in scope, but with the intimate character development and storytelling that provides emotional resonance. It’s the type of offering that used to be a staple of American film, but would be difficult, if not impossible, to make in modern Hollywood. Arcel has done Hollywood, with some success and some notable failures (e.g., 2017’s The Dark Tower, an official “bomb” that some called — incorrectly, it turns out — career-ending). He notes the “profound difference” between American and Danish filmmaking. “In America, especially if you’re working on a studio film, it’s barely your own film. It’s not really your vision, your artistic expression. It’s about creating something that’s meant to make a lot of money, that’s meant to reach a large audience, or please the studio executives.” Arcel says Hollywood made him feel like “a workman for hire,” when what he really loves is telling stories.4 As counterintuitive as it seems, modern Hollywood makes it very difficult for creative filmmakers to provide what many (potential) moviegoers crave: a good story, well told. I have wondered, of late, how bad at the box office (they’re fairly abysmal currently) things will need to get before the Hollywood machine pauses and reflects?
And this is why, perhaps, critics were fairly positive about The Promised Land (it was shortlisted for an Oscar for Best International Feature Film), while leavening with condescension, calling the film “old-school,” “old-fashioned,” and “nostalgic” — terms that appear in these pieces almost as universally as “granite-faced” to describe Mikkelsen. He seems to be the factor that elevated the film for critics, given that it doesn’t tick a lot of their usual boxes. One even called him a “Euro Gary Cooper,” in keeping with the Western idiom.5 Admiration of Mikkelsen, especially his ability to convey so much through his distinctive facial features, is well-deserved; this film is a vehicle for him, and I’m not sure anyone else could’ve done the role justice in the way he does. His performance, and that of the rest of the cast, allow for a kind of character development that doesn’t often happen in movies with shorter run times meant to cater to nonexistent attention spans. As one critic noted: “what makes it finally work as well as it does is that it largely avoids the ennobling clichés that turn characters into ideals and movies into exercises in spurious nostalgia — well, that and Mads Mikkelsen.”6 Critics these days tend to sneer at anything ennobling (nihilism seems the norm) and at nostalgia. Yet nostalgia appeals for a reason: it’s a longing for a past (real or otherwise) perceived as superior to what is currently being experienced. It’s difficult to argue that the majority of films being produced by today’s American film industry, especially that based in Hollywood, aren’t more than enough cause for viewers to long for a cinematic past — for Hollywood’s Golden Age when epics with a moral center, novelty, character development, and engaging storytelling were standard. The supercilious viewpoint, thankfully, isn’t universal — some recognize the value of films like The Promised Land. “The Promised Land is the kind of sweeping big-screen epic that will make you say, ‘They don’t make them like this anymore.’ Thank goodness Nikolaj Arcel still does.”7
References:
1. Mathilde Moestrup
“Book news Ida Jessen: The Jutland heath fascinates me because it is completely empty.” Information, October 2020. Accessed 9 April 2025. https://www.information.dk/kultur/2020/10/bogaktuelle-ida-jessen-jyske-hede-fascinerer-fordi-fuldstaendig-tomt.
2. Alex Welch
“Mads Mikkelsen Shares the Joy of Stepping Into ‘Other People’s Dreams” Oscars Newsletter, 1 February 2024. https://newsletter.oscars.org/news/post/mads-mikkelsen-the-promised-land-interview
3. Alex Welch
“How ‘The Promised Land’ Director Nikolaj Arcel Pulled Off His Historical Epic” Oscars Newsletter, 31 January 2024. https://newsletter.oscars.org/news/post/nikolaj-arcel-the-promised-land-interview
4. Scott Simon
“‘The Promised Land’ is a western that follows a retired Danish officer in 1755)” NPR.org. 3 February 2024. https://www.npr.org/2024/02/03/1228839409/the-promised-land-is-a-western-that-follows-a-retired-danish-officer-in-1755
5. Peter Bradshaw
“Mads Mikkelsen is a Euro Gary Cooper in Nordic western.” The Guardian, 14 February 2024. https://www.theguardian.com/film/2024/feb/14/the-promised-land-review-mads-mikkelsen-is-a-euro-gary-cooper-in-nordic-western
6. Manola Dahrgis
“Coaxing Crops from a Wild Land.” The New York Times, 1 February 2024. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/01/movies/the-promised-land-review-mads-mikkelsen.html
7. Katie Walsh
“In Denmark’s ‘The Promised Land,’ the virtues of an old-school western still blaze.” The Los Angeles Times, 2 February 2024. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/movies/story/2024-02-02/the-promised-land-review-mads-mikkelsen-nikolaj-arcel-denmark
About the contributor: Bethany Latham is a professor, librarian, author, regular book reviewer for various venues, and Managing Editor of Historical Novels Review.
Published in Historical Novels Review | Issue 112 (May 2025)
