‘Weightless’ San Sebastian Review: A Daring Look at Adolescent Vulnerability

The song heard near the end of Weightless speaks of “sexual awakening.” In films from a few decades ago, the story told here might well have fallen under that category. Not anymore. The kind of relationship portrayed in this Danish film is clearly much more problematic than that. What makes Emilie Thalund’s debut original is that it doesn’t settle for the most straightforward or politically correct approach, but instead digs deeper into a spectrum that turns out to be more complicated than it initially seems—or than a more conventional movie would portray it.

Lea (Marie Helweg Augustsen) is 15 when her family sends her to spend the summer at a “wellness camp.” Many teens go there for different reasons, but quite a few attend to lose weight, improve their eating habits, and develop healthier routines. Lea—or perhaps her family—wants her to slim down, and she finds herself immersed in a strict schedule of exercise and dieting. Her roommate, Sasha (Ella Paaske), is more socially outgoing, dealing with a different set of problems, and enjoys sneaking out and meeting boys. Shy and self-conscious, Lea feels out of place in both the social dynamics of camp life. Things only get worse when she becomes the target of bullying.

The person she feels most comfortable with is Rune, one of the camp instructors, a kind, easygoing man in his thirties who treats the kids well and shows a particular sensitivity toward Lea. For her, being able to talk to him, to feel heard and respected, is a revelation. Gradually, she begins to draw closer. Rune (Joachim Fjelstrup), instead of stepping back or setting boundaries, allows the closeness to grow. He listens to her, comforts her, and seems to genuinely care. But soon, their connection becomes increasingly problematic, leading to things that should never happen.

Thalund handles this relationship with intelligence. It’s not—or doesn’t appear to be—an obvious case of grooming, nor the calculated moves of a predatory teacher. Yet there comes a point where the adult must establish limits and distance, and that doesn’t happen here. Quite the opposite, in fact. From that moment on, the relationship doesn’t shift into something wholly different either. What any audience member would recognize as abuse, for a 15-year-old girl in the midst of sexual awakening, is something far more difficult to process and understand.

Weightless approaches this subject in a thoughtful and, in today’s terms, remarkably daring way. While it makes clear that the responsibility lies with the adult, it also gives Lea an active role, acknowledging her desire, attraction, and her need to feel seen, understood, even touched. Of course, it’s Rune’s job to draw the line—but since he doesn’t, or not enough, the situation grows murkier and more unsettling.

With great sensitivity toward its characters—even those one might see as monstrous—and a keen eye for staging, Thalund’s debut tells a complex story of sexual awakening and how adolescent confusion collides with adult behavior. At the same time, indirectly, it highlights the fragility of its protagonist, tied to her self-image and how that shapes her choices. When Lea tells Sasha that she “has a thing” with Rune, Sasha looks at her in disbelief. That fleeting reaction only deepens Lea’s insecurity and her longing to be with the one person who seems to truly care for her. Few films manage to capture the tangled, confusing space of adolescence with such nuance. This one does it with striking honesty.