The Sunlit Night 2019

Frances Jenny Slate begins with a stark look at how harsh critics can be when evaluating her art, a reminder that even promising work can be met with sharp, cutting feedback. The opening sequence sets a tone of struggle and resilience as she splits from her boyfriend and returns to the quiet, painterly world of her parents. Her family appears as a backdrop of creativity: her mother, who works in interior textiles for the wealthy, and her father, who illustrates medical books. The household is affectionate but quietly fraught, with Frances carrying the weight of ambition and a restless need to prove herself.

In a tense, intimate meal with her sister Gabby Elise Kibler, Frances learns of more changes—Gabby is getting married, and their father suddenly reveals that he and their mother are separating. The moment lands with an awkward hush, underscoring how art and life often collide in unpredictable ways. Their father, in his own way, worries about Gabby’s future, while Frances absorbs the fear and hope swirling around her sister’s new path. This tension becomes a catalyst for Frances to reconsider her own trajectory, especially as a career counselor nudges her toward a fresh opportunity.

A meeting with a career counselor lands Frances with an assignment far from the bustle of New York: a residency with an artist named Nils Auerman Fridtjov Såheim in the remote north of Norway. The first glimpse of this stark landscape paints a world that feels almost like a living painting—the sea, the sky, and the unbroken expanse inviting, yet intimidating. When she finally meets Nils, his taciturn, almost austere presence contrasts with Frances’s buoyant, almost romantic vision of art. He ushers her toward a modest trailer by the water, where the day-to-day rhythm is dictated by the harsh, unyielding light of the north. The bathroom and shower share the same space near the trailer, and the sound of daylight, never fully receding, makes sleep elusive on the first night.

Frances throws herself into work, and the dynamic at the barn is defined by a clear split of labor: she paints the interior while Nils handles the exterior. The village that passes by—its Viking museum, its archers, and the idea of a medieval life—lures Frances into a field of inspiration she wants to chase. She longs to create her own pieces, not simply execute a commissioned task, but Nils cautions her that their schedule will be grueling, from 7 to 7, which challenges her sense of creative freedom. The world outside keeps intruding in small, lyrical moments: a grocery run where a clerk behind the freezer evokes the timeless beauty of Renaissance imagery, and a woman behind the counter who becomes a living muse in Frances’s growing catalog of paintings. The clerk—Janet Ginna Lavine—slips into the narrative not as a mere background figure but as a spark in Frances’s perception of beauty, a reminder that inspiration can arrive from ordinary moments.

As Frances and Nils work, Frances’s curiosity expands beyond the studio. She discovers a Viking Village, with its archers and artifacts, and she senses something in the air—an atmosphere of ceremony that feels almost sacred. Amid this, she meets Haldor [Zach Galifianakis], a man who embodies a serious devotion to Viking life, to the point of jokingly claiming a kind of kingliness. His intensity and eccentric charm offer a counterpoint to Nils’s stern seriousness, and Frances begins to see the different ways people inhabit art, culture, and memory.

A pivotal arc unfolds when Frances encounters Yasha [Alex Sharp], a quiet, reflective figure who moves through the landscape with a presence that reminds her of figures from old master paintings. Their connection grows in small, shared moments, and Frances becomes drawn to his quiet sorrow and his reverence for the rituals surrounding life and death. The two form a fragile bond, and their conversations drift between art, memory, and loss. The moment when Yasha reveals that his father, a baker, wished for a Viking funeral brings a profound emotional weight to Frances’s experience in Norway.

The funeral scene is intimate and ceremonial, with Yasha’s mother, Olyana [Gillian Anderson], arriving and a fisherman’s sense of ritual grounding the moment. The coffin is carried to a Viking ship replica by the seashore, and the funeral pyre is lit in a ritual that feels both ancient and deeply personal. In the midst of this, Haldor’s playful skepticism about the tribe’s customs—whether he might be a “troll”—adds a touch of whimsy to a moment that’s otherwise heavy with grief. The emotional cadence of the scene underscores how art, memory, and longing intersect in Frances’s developing sensibility.

Frances and Yasha share a later, intimate moment on a hilltop after a day of work, a scene of shared vulnerability that culminates in a natural, unguarded connection. When they return to the barn, the arrival of NKI representatives challenges their privacy and their decisions to pursue their own artistic paths. They leave together, both apologizing, while Nils stares on in a quiet, almost stung silence—the rupture of boundaries between mentor, lover, and collaborator.

Back in New York, the landscape has shifted. Haldor, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit in Frances, wonders if there’s more to her than the visible surface of her art. The grocery clerk, Janet, returns in the memory of the painter, and the idea of “trolls”—people who endure cold, dark places and emerge strong—takes on a new, almost hopeful meaning for Haldor. The sister Gabby is now married, and a cautious note of worry echoes through their father’s speech about Frances’s autonomy and the risk of following others’ advice rather than her own heart.

A letter arrives from Nils, carrying a small, hopeful map that indicates the barn they painted has passed inspection and earned a place on a mapping of the region. The gesture is simple but powerful: a signal that Frances’s work has grown from a private experiment into something that can be publicly recognized and celebrated. The map becomes a symbol of trust and collaboration—Nils’s way of acknowledging that their collaboration has resilience beyond the limits of a single project. Frances reads the note with a soft, knowing smile as she contemplates what the future might hold for her art.

The closing images return to Frances’s work on display, now celebrated and hailed by the art school evaluators who once criticized her so harshly. This final turn reframes her journey as one in which ambition, vulnerability, distance, and connection all contributed to a larger, more profound body of work. The film leaves viewers with the sense that Frances has transformed not only through the landscapes of Norway but also through the human connections she allowed to shape her vision—connections with Nils, Yasha, Haldor, Olyana, and Gabby, each leaving an imprint on her art and on how she sees herself as an artist.

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