(2025, 103 min)
Country: Denmark
Director: Mathias Broe
Studio: Breaking Glass Pictures
Language: Danish, English
SYNOPSIS: Set around a Copenhagen bathhouse where nightly encounters blur fantasy and reality, Sauna follows Johan, a young cis man exploring his blossoming sexuality within a world of casual gay hookups. When he meets William, a trans man navigating Denmark's labyrinthine medical system in pursuit of hormones, he begins to confront his own fears, prejudices and sense of self. A breakout international success at Sundance, Mathias Broe's timely debut is an inviting, intimate film that daringly imagines queer love beyond fetishization and lays bare the discrimination trans men still face - even within gay spaces.
REVIEW:
The Danish drama Sauna explore identity, discomfort, and an unexpected bond. Not everybody likes surprises, and life throws enough curveballs that sometimes it’s nice to know what you’re getting into — especially when the information is readily available. In the film Sauna, a cis gay guy named Johan opens his humble home to someone he contacted on a dating app. Soon he starts making out with the shy arrival — but with the latter’s “Don’t touch my chest” request, he figures out the reason for that boundary. The light dawns: “I’ve never been with a trans…” Johan stammers, uncomfortable that he wasn’t prepared for the situation. William replies, “Maybe you should have read my profile,” assuming this meeting was a waste of time — disheartening, disrespectful, and distasteful. Johan pulls himself together and asks William to stay. So begins the road to a romance with more bumps and roadblocks ahead. Their dialogue, in Danish and Swedish with English subtitles, is co-written by director Mathias Broe and William Lippert, based on a novel by Mads Ananda Lodahl.
The film handles the subject matter — the feelings and challenges of people transitioning — with sensitivity. (It’s worth noting that the director’s real-life partner began transitioning during the film’s development.) Dialogue and situations illuminate William’s worries and struggles as a trans man: coming to terms with identity, contemplating future surgery, and negotiating both short-term vulnerability and long-term uncertainty. But we don’t get much backstory about the life chapters that led him to this point. We stay in the present. The rest can be guessed, but more context would have been welcome and worth a few minutes of exposition.
Even more frustrating is what the screenplay doesn’t tell us about what draws Johan and William to each other early on. Beyond loneliness, curiosity, and a sympathetic spark, we never learn if they share interests, worldviews, humor, or insights that deepen their connection. It feels like all that is skipped over, leaving non-verbal chemistry and tentative willingness as the sole foundation. Yes, film is a visual medium — and here, eye contact (or avoidance), facial reactions, and body language do a lot of work. And yes, our protagonists’ pregnant pauses prove they’re not the most articulate communicators. For viewers relying on subtitles while trying to catch the nuances onscreen, a dialogue-light script can be a blessing — but some emotional specificity would not have gone amiss.
Johan works at the movie’s titular establishment — cleaning and collecting entrance fees from the sauna’s gay clientele — and often takes advantage of his perk: free anonymous sex during his off-hours. Magnus Juhl Andersen plays him pensively, with vulnerability and often sad-eyed uncertainty. We see much of the story from his perspective, at least when director Broe and cinematographer Nikolai Lok let us see anything at all through the dim hallways, low-wattage lighting, nighttime exteriors, or the club’s flashing neon. As the film progresses, William’s perspective gets more of the spotlight, with Nina Rask skillfully conveying the hopes and hurdles of a determined but troubled trans man. These two lead performances — their chemistry and the sympathy they generate — are the film’s biggest assets. Raising consciousness around trans issues is noble and welcome, but that’s more a meaningful after-effect than the primary reason to stick with these characters and their worries.
Having moved from a smaller town to Copenhagen, Johan isn’t always coping well. He’s not always happy, smart, or savvy about life or love, and the plot doesn’t fully seize on the possible wisdom offered by secondary characters. A bar buddy reminds him that Grindr is not a friend-finder. Another man, who might have been a compassionate confidant, is dismissed too quickly, the bridge burned before Johan realizes the opportunity he squandered. One can see this either as the screenplay dodging a too-convenient growth moment or as reinforcement of Johan’s flaw: his self-absorption and immaturity keep doors — and himself — closed. Without giving away too much, the romance has its ups and downs, and Johan makes impulsive choices that may come from caring but carry serious consequences.
Sauna has been released in two versions. Some scenes feature sexual activity — artfully and discreetly shot, emphasizing tenderness — but the “Censored Version” removes graphic encounters and a few shots of unnamed nude men. The story gives us flawed characters to root for: short-sighted, short-tempered, but capable of good intentions, empathy, and the glimmer of a real relationship.
Review by Bob Lester, Film (https://stageandcinema.com/)
