“Narcissists are the ones who make it…combined with talent, it’s a plus,” Signe (Kristine Kujath Thorp) coolly observes in the opening stages of the wickedly enjoyable “Sick of Myself.” For anyone who’s watched a partner realize their dreams, a trusted colleague get promoted, or a friend become famous, and curdled with jealousy and resentment, Kristoffer Borgli has made the film for you. The filmmaker’s tart and scabrously funny (both literally and figuratively) sophomore feature is a pointed portrait of a toxic relationship and a razor-sharp evisceration of those warped by a victim mentality. It’s the latest from the producers of “The Worst Person In The World” and to be honest, this film might be more deserving of the title.
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Stuck in a relationship that should’ve ended before this film started, and just generally stuck, Signe’s young life is going nowhere fast. When it comes to her artist boyfriend Thomas (Eirik Sæther), whatever affection they might’ve shared has settled into a routine underneath which boils a seething competition to see who can more viciously cut the other down to size at any opportunity. When Thomas proudly announces his first exhibition at a prestigious gallery, Signe quickly points out to their friends that technically, it’s in a temporary offshoot that’s opening for the summer. And it’s actually smaller than the regular gallery space. So it goes between them, but the snipes and shots Signe fires do little to stop the growing shadow that Thomas’ burgeoning career is starting to cast. So Signe does what any rational, right-minded person would do: she orders a batch of illegal Russian drugs hoping to trigger its side effect of a mysterious, highly visible, deeply scarring skin disease that she’s read about online. If she doesn’t have the talent to get the attention she craves, narcissism with a dash of desperation will have to do.
After downing the pills like candy, Signe’s skin starts to break out in a hideous rash. She pretends not to notice, waiting for Thomas to acknowledge the lesions that are starting to appear, but when he does, his concerned but calm advice that she should go see a doctor isn’t enough. Signe lets it get worse to the point of being hospitalized and it’s only then she starts getting the depth of sympathy she desires. Thomas breaks down in tears, her girlfriends coo supportively, and Signe takes score of who does and doesn’t come to see her. For Signe, the game is only just starting. Cunningly and calculatingly, she leverages her increasingly grotesque ailment into a campaign, notching an empathetic media profile and a contract with an inclusive modeling agency. Her increasing wattage starts to dim the aura around Thomas and when it comes to the jousting match of their relationship, she’s back on top. Sure, she might be irreparably damaged from the pills, but if this is the price of power and fame, Signe’s willing to pay up.
Starting to corner the market on playing dynamic, complicated women, Kristine Kujath Thorp follows her breakout lead performance in “Ninjababy” with an absolute belter of a turn as Signe. It’s a demanding part, not just because of the layers of prosthetics by Izzi Galindo (David Cronenberg should give him a call immediately) she has to wear, but because it requires keeping the audience balanced between understanding and being disgusted by an insecure liar and manipulator. But Thorp’s spiky, outrageous work makes it look easy. It’s almost impressive how far Signe is willing to go, and even when she’s awful — such as calling a newspaper’s editorial department to complain that an article about her has been pushed down their website because of a mass shooting — Thorp has us leaning in. As I said, the crown of the worst person in the world might need to be passed on, but oh boy, does Thorp ever make you want to keep watching watch Signe does next.
What do you call Munchausen syndrome when you actually give yourself the disease? I’m sure there’s an entry somewhere in the APA dictionary, and Borgli has read it. His screenplay is deft and clever, offering a biting look at Signe’s scheming victimhood. The way she turns almost every situation to put herself and illness at the center almost becomes a sport, but wisely Borgli never punches down at real victims – we’re always acutely aware that Signe has manufactured her suffering. And while Borgli doesn’t let her off the hook, he plays fair with Signe too. Thomas is far from a saint, and it could be argued his callous selfishness is the trigger that sets the path that Signe goes down. “Sick of Myself” is just as much about the dynamics of an unhealthy, antagonistic relationship and what festers if it’s left unchecked. Working with cinematographer Benjamin Leob, Borgli lets the camera swing back and forth between Signe and Thomas as they lob shots at each other, the energy of the volleys only increasing the tension between them. The subject matter may be serious but the approach is sure-handed, both light and delightfully caustic. Unafraid of testing the waters of good taste, Borgli also pokes fun at good intentions gone awry when it comes to inclusion, with several side-splittling gags involving a blind assistant at the modeling agency.
The pleasure in watching “Sick of Myself” is that it can bounce from a fun, meta cameo by ‘Worst’ heartthrob Anders Danielsen Lie to moments of near body-horror to stingingly witty exchanges without missing a beat. Borgli’s command of craft finds an equal and willing partner in a go-for-broke Thorp. It’s a pairing we hope to see again. And if they were trying to manifest an appearance on the Croisette by having Signe wear a Festival de Cannes t-shirt in one scene, not only have they earned it, they deserve it. [B+]
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