The White Viking

There are damn near no Viking movies out there. I mean, you got a handful, and yeah, I’ve seen them all. So, I kept The White Viking in my back pocket, saving it like a last cigarette. But tonight? Tonight, I lit that bad boy up, and let me tell you—it burns bright. Best of the bunch. No contest. And it ain’t just because this is the cleanest VHS-to-DVD rip I’ve ever gotten from the underground relic dealers at DVDLady. No, sir. This is Hrafn Gunnlaugsson in full command, every frame dripping with his signature mythic grit.

The cast? Man, this thing is packed with powerful performances, wild eyes, and some of the worst teeth I’ve ever seen in a period piece. Askur (Gotti Sigurdarson) and Embla (Maria Bonnevie)? Classic doomed lovers. And their wedding day bestial rutting—I mean, it’s straight-up hysterical. King Olafur? Played by Egill Ólafsson. Solid villain, but let’s be real—he ain't Helgi Skúlason, who brought pure menace to the first two flicks of Gunnlaugsson’s Raven Trilogy, When the Raven Flies and In the Shadow of the Raven. Thorgeir (played by, surprise!, Helgi Skúlason himself) is just a tired jarl who wants to be left the hell alone, and then there’s Hallbera (Bríet Héðinsdótti)—a straight-up delicious witch. You cross her? You’re done. Period.

Now, let’s talk score. Hans-Erik Philip finally ditches that weird, synth-y Blade Runner-meets-the-Dark-Ages experiment he pulled in When the Raven Flies and In the Shadow of the Raven. This time? He goes for full dirge mode—haunting, weeping violins that sound like they’re crying for Valhalla. It’s goddamn poetry.

Now, get this—I finish the movie, start digging around, and BAM—I find out there’s not one, not two, but three versions of this beast. The theatrical cut, the Embla cut (which shifts focus to Embla and cuts Iceland out almost entirely), and a goddamn five-hour miniseries. Five hours! What the hell? The mini-series even goes full pagan—real animal sacrifices on screen. You heard me. Not CGI, not props—actual blood rites. Pig to Freyr, calf to Odin. No half-measures. You can watch it here.

Okay, story time. King Olav? Dude is a religious maniac. He’s hearing voices, thinks White Christ himself is whispering in his ear, and wants to wipe out every last pagan in Norway. Enters stage left: Godbrandur, last of the holdouts, with his daughter Embla. Enter stage right: Askur, bastard son of an Icelandic lawman, who marries Embla in a good ol’ Viking ceremony—until Olav crashes the party. Embla axes one of Olav’s men for wrecking an Odin statue. Shit gets wild. Everyone fights, everyone loses. Godbrandur gets baptized under duress, Askur gets sent to convert Iceland, and Embla? She gets locked up in a convent as leverage.

Listen to their confession. Then baptism them. Then kill them.

Now, Iceland doesn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for Askur. The locals are laughing their asses off at Christianity, his brother Gunnar sets him up for murder, and his own father doesn’t recognize him. Instead of making Askur a martyr, they ship his ass back to Norway. Round two. He busts Embla out of the convent in the most Tarantino-ass way possible—posing as Jesus to scare the nuns. But just as they make their escape? BAM! Captured again.

Embla, quick on her feet, convinces Olav to give Askur one more shot at converting Iceland. She slips Askur a necklace of Freyja for luck and tells him the king wants to marry her. Askur gets sent back to Iceland again, only this time with hostages as leverage. Now, when he lands, his old man comes out swinging. But instead of a straight-up duel, they fake a fight. Askur plays dead, drenched in sacrificial blood, and slips into hiding while his guys make off with the necklace. Meanwhile, Embla’s out in the wild, dodging the king, surviving on the kindness of strangers.

Final act. Olav has Godbrandur build a church. Embla finally reunites with her father, and they plan their escape. But surprise—Olav’s ships roll up. No way out. Thinking Askur’s dead, Embla sets the whole damn church on fire. Godbrandur goes up in flames, Olav saves Embla, and after one last, desperate attack, he just... lets her go.

The final shot? Embla, wrecked, broken, ready to end it all—until she sees what looks like her father’s spirit calling out to Odin. And then, just when you think it’s over—a ship. A single ship sails into the fjord. Askur.

Roll credits.

This movie is insane. It’s unapologetic. It’s pure Gunnlaugsson. Is it perfect? Hell no. But it’s messy and brutal and soaked in legend. And that? That makes it unforgettable.