This film is clearly political propaganda, made by a double-agent director with aserious grudge against Norwegians. It's a disgusting, dirty little film about a disgusting, dirty little Norwegian postman named Roy (Robert Skjaerstad) who reads people's mail, then goes so far as to enter a woman's apartment when she leaves her key in the mailbox.
This whole film needs a bath. I don't know what the Norwegian tourism board had to say to director Pål Sletaune upon viewing this particular cinematic postcard, but it undoubtedly translated to something like "As long as you're destroying our national pride, why don't you invite the Swedes to come take our women, drink our booze and steal all our umlauts while you're at it, you wånker?" The fact that Pål Sletaune is Norwegian (something I figured out because he has that goofy notation above the "a" in his first name) probably only made the board despair further. How can we expect to clean up this clearly filthy country when its citizens all have little dots and weird crap all over their very alphabet? And what's with the "a" and the "e" that are like, fused together? Jesus, get out of the middle ages, people.
Roy's "stalkee," Line (Andrine Saether), comes back into her apartment after Roy falls asleep and -- much to Roy's surprise -- gets naked and tries to kill herself in the bathtub. Roy saves her, which starts a very peculiar sequence of gross events that ends so abrubtly that we can only conclude that Påt and the crew must have broken for lunch or simply run out of film. Though when you've just spent two hours feeling about as clean as a perineum inspector at the local incontinence clinic, any means to end the torment is a welcome one.
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