‘The Celebration’ Rocks the Cradle of Authoritarianism

Thomas Vinterberg’s acclaimed dark comedy The Celebration strongly evidences the root causes of humanity’s unrestrained aggression, bigotry, and fascist proclivities.

The Celebration Thomas Vinterberg Criterion 11 January 2022

Director Thomas Vinterberg’s acclaimed 1998 film, The Celebration, Festen in his native Danish, may be one of the best dark comedies in the global canon. It is both the best depiction of familial struggles, while, more broadly, the most important film to help viewers understand our current state of rising authoritarianism.

Consider The Celebration’s basic elements: 1. A remarkably original and intimate style of filmmaking; 2. the darkest of subject matter that opens a door to the very worst—and best—of humanity; 3. A challenging, but perfectly-paced storyline; 4. an elegant, yet utterly superficial, family get-together that will highlight the immense denial at the center of the story; and 5. a current of comedy flows throughout the story. Oh, and by the end, The Celebration strongly evidences the root causes of humanity’s unrestrained aggression, bigotry, and fascist proclivities. All in just 106 minutes.

Thomas Vinterberg, along with co-screenwriter Mogens Rukov and a stellar cast, may have found the perfect vehicle for capturing all of the above. The “celebration” in question is a weekend-long, 60th-birthday party for a wealthy patriarch at his grand hotel-mansion in Denmark. Attendees include his devoted wife, three adult children, and 30 or so other relatives and friends. This party will, however, become one like no other when a horrific, long-denied family secret is disclosed to all.

As to the film’s style, The Celebration was made in accordance with Vinterberg and fellow Danish director Lars Von Trier’s much-acclaimed and influential Dogme 95 manifesto, which 35 films followed from 1995 to 2005. The declaration is a set of “rules” the pair laid out to ensure a no-frills approach to filmmaking, such as limiting directors only to handheld cameras and barring any use of effects, props, post-shoot modifications, soundtracks, and so on.

As Vinterberg put it, the intent was to “force the truth out of the characters and settings.” ( And that it did. The Celebration, the most acclaimed of these films, is a perfect fit and ends up seeming like a cross between a feature film, a family home video, and the most personal of documentaries.

There is another crucial topic to understand to appreciate this film: denial. That is, The Celebration is as much about familial denial as it is about family; instead of a party, it is an unraveling.

Our tendency toward denial is one of humankind’s great nemeses, from the most personal of topics to the most public. Yet, often people are in denial about even the most obvious signs of denial. Sometimes people miss things, and sometimes, either subconsciously or not, people don’t want to deal with harsh realities, and so they deny.

Plato captured this in his Allegory of the Cave, for example, describing how we often only see “the shadows” of actual events, and don’t realize that’s all we’re seeing. As another example, early on in religious scholar Karen Armstrong’s acclaimed A History of God (1993), she similarly concluded: “Humankind cannot bear very much reality.”

In dysfunctional families, denial is even worse. As Vinterberg said of The Celebration, “It’s concerned with a very old family topic. The oppression of truth is a story that has always been there, I think.”

In The Celebration, As in Life, We Deny, Deny, Deny

Familial denial can begin with any harmful or shameful actions. An involved family member is then either coerced into silence, usually by a parent, or otherwise too ashamed to speak up. Lies are then used to cover things up, while other family members may ignore or simply miss any outward signs of a problem.

This process can snowball, meaning that, in an effort to preserve peace and order, people overlook the secrets and instead live the lies. Thus, a family’s values will be false and warped, while the authority figures are seen as unimpeachable.

Anyone trying to disrupt such a dysfunctional system will be seen as a radical, and as a grave and very personal threat to the system. To speak out against this party line will then mean working against immense inertia and severe backlash.

This is all indeed how things play out in the film, with a celebration that is turned into an epic conflict, where the harshest of truths are spoken to long-entrenched, familial power. Everyone character in The Celebration film will have to reconcile themselves with the fallout, and ripples from this explosive event will flow into broader society.

As The Celebration begins, family and friends arrive at a hotel, and they mingle and settle in for the weekend. The family’s grown children are introduced as follows. Christian (Ulrich Thomsen), the favored son, is home from running his restaurant in Paris. He is also clearly very much preoccupied for some reason, even around his longtime friend (possibly previous lover?), the lovely Pia (Trine Dyrholm), who now works at the hotel, and who very obviously wants to be with him.

Brother Michael (Thomas Bo Larsen) is very angry, in general, and he takes it out on his wife and children. He is also seen desperately seeking approval from the powerful patriarch, Helge (Henning Moritzen). At one point, Michael is literally and comically falling over himself to please him. It is also, however, made clear that the father has long manipulated Michael, but he has never given him any actual approval.

Sister Helene (Paprika Steen) tells the hotel clerk that her room is the one in which their recently deceased sister, Linda (Lene Laub Oksen in a dream sequence), the twin of Christian, died in. Helene notes that she is tired of the family not talking about it and that “covering it all up is silly.”

In the room, there is indeed a hint of a ghostly presence, before Helene finds some written symbols and clues. They are new, but relate to a game that the siblings used to play as kids called “You’re Getting Warmer”. Helene follows the clues and finds a note; she starts to read it to herself. The letter was written by Linda, and Helene is visibly shaken and stops reading. She hastily hides the note (literally compartmentalizing it), and mutters to herself, “They mustn’t find it.”

The Celebration Challenges Our Appetites

A little over 30 minutes into the film, the celebration attendees settle down in an elegant dining room for what looks to be a lovely and most pleasant dinner. The evening will include a series of traditional toasts, each preceded by the tapping of one’s butter knife on a wine glass, and all done in a set order, e.g., “Eldest son makes speech”. There is also a toastmaster, a friend of the family, to ensure that the proceedings run smoothly and remain lovely throughout.

Christian starts the evening off with what seems to be a clever toast and ode to his father. This toast, however, takes a turn. Christian goes on to tell the group how, as small children, he and Linda would prepare for what he calls “When Dad Had His Bath”. Christian then explains to the room that bath time was actually when the father would rape him and Linda. The room goes quiet.

The announcement doesn’t seem to register with the attendees at first. This was certainly not on the agenda, nor is it in any protocol. After a brief silence, one person absent-mindedly starts to clap for a couple of claps. They are shushed. Helge asks for drink refills. The mother, the lovely Else (Birthe Neumann), forces a laugh and confidently smiles in a sort of amused-but-everything-is-perfect sort of way. It appears to be a mask that she is all too accustomed to wearing.

The tension is broken, somewhat, when the absent-minded grandfather (John Boas), next in the official toast order, but oblivious to what was just said, stands up. Dear old granddad first confuses whose birthday it is, which draws some laughs, but he is also a distraction from what was just said. He continues on, and warns that he has a tale “from the seven seas”, meaning it will be an off-color joke, and people laugh as they no doubt always have. He is a real hit. “Good on you, granddad!”, Michael exclaims. Oddly enough, the party seems to be… getting back on track?

Christian quietly leaves the room. In the kitchen, his childhood friend, Kim, now the hotel’s chef, who is fully aware of the situation, speaks to Christian and challenges him not to quit his mission.

In the dining room, Helene stands—apologizes for interrupting grandfather—and then tells the gathering that Christian wasn’t serious, of course. In the wine cellar, Christian and his father have a private conversation. With feigned concern, the father challenges his son’s story, his memory, and his sanity.

Christian appears to be wavering; he appeases his father for the moment, noting that he is stressed out with work and with his sister’s recent death, so no doubt he has it all wrong. Christian then says that they should just “forget about it”. His father agrees and offers, “Have a good trip home.” The unnerving lack of response from the guests and the unflinching denial by the parents have somehow blunted the initial accusation. Why? How?

First, it seems that as the parents have always had the upper hand and have always controlled the narrative in the family, as well as in their business lives, they aren’t easily giving up control now. As to the guests, they seem unsure how to handle the matter. So, everyone appears set on going along with the status quo.

At the same time, for however briefly, a light has been shone on a family’s deepest, darkest corner. The cat is definitely out of the bag.

Lest We Choke on the Awkward

Halfway into The Celebration, the toastmaster tries to get the dinner back on course. Christian has come back to the dining room, though assumedly only to apologize for his allegation. He stands to start his second toast. An attendee—assuming a retraction is coming—chimes in with his approval: “Well done, Christian!”

Instead, Christian toasts: “Here’s to the man who killed my sister… to a murderer.” Helge leaves the dining room, and the toastmaster suggests they take a break. The crowd confusedly disperses and exits the room. Christian stays behind, sitting at the table by himself, casually enjoying his food.

With the room empty of family and guests, Helge confronts Christian once again, but now the feigned confusion and concern are gone, and it is all malice. Instead of defending against the allegations or showing any concern for his son’s mental health, the father threatens to humiliate him by telling people anything he can about his son’s past that he thinks will hurt him.

Also, Helene’s boyfriend, Gbatokai, has arrived. It seems like a very odd tangent at first, but his being Black (African American) becomes a huge issue. As if things aren’t uncomfortable enough, Michael is also virulently racist. In short, Gbatokai will stand up to Michael, and Michael will respond by leading the entire, otherwise all-Caucasian dinner party in a spirited sing-along to an old, supposedly cute but very racist children’s song. The scene is as uncomfortable to watch as it sounds.

As the outsiders to this family and this occasion, Gbatokai and Christian bond. At the same time, Gbatokai tells Christian that he is surprised that Christian thought everything in the family would actually change by “dropping a bomb” the way he did.

This part of The Celebration involves some secondary themes. Upper-class partygoers, including Michael, will be seen either abusing or otherwise making aggressive sexual advances toward the service staff.

At this point, given how disastrous things have gone, one might ask: Why don’t the party attendees simply leave? For one thing, both Christian and Helge want the audience to stay so that they can each have their own versions of reality validated.

For both Helge and his wife, with these most horrific of accusations hanging in the air, to not obtain a direct, public retraction would mean risking the end of their dominant positions in their familial, social, and business lives. Their proverbial kingdom would collapse. Thus, they have plenty of reason to want a public retraction and thus uphold the status quo.

There is also, again, the notion that those other party attendees and the hotel staff are all closely tied to Helge and Else, and benefit from this closeness to power. They have all also been loyal, or at least submissive, for many years, and thus, they are not going to cut ties instantly. Perhaps some would prefer to keep things hassle-free and let this family handle this very personal matter themselves.

Kim and the staff also try to help Christian by trying to prevent any of the guests from leaving. The chef has the staff collect all of the attendees’ car keys from their hotel rooms, and in pre-cellphone days, the staff would also ensure that none of the guests could use the hotel phones to call for taxis.

Granted, this “no one is leaving” scenario may not be plausible (e.g., the staff will risk their jobs? The guests were in tuxedos and gowns, but no one had their keys on them?). Yet, this, too, can be chalked up to artistic license. The guests have already endured the shocking initial disclosures, but whether they are still seen at the hotel or went back home and heard about the family later doesn’t change the intent of The Celebration‘s story. Denial is denial. Their staying, of course, does make things neater and more dramatic.

‘Tis Easier to Fill One’s Mouth Than to Empty It

The dinner continues. The unflappable toastmaster is again trying to get things back on track.

Now, Else, flashing her everything-is-great smile, moves to reassert her and Helge’s dominance. She stands and gives her own speech, in which she slyly pretends to be supportive of each of her children, while actually demeaning each by listing what she clearly sees as their many life disappointments.

As to Christian and his shocking claim, Else gaslights him hard, noting how “creative” and “quite special” he has always been, going back to when, as a little boy, he had made up an “imaginary friend.” It is a masterful—and rather diabolical—performance.

Else concludes by ungraciously providing Christian a chance to recant his story for all to hear: “Christian, you may stand up now.” Christian does finally stand, but instead of apologizing, he announces to the room that his mother most certainly knew the abuse was going on, but chose to bury her head, and that all of the guests are “cunts” for even listening to her.

Now, Michael and two helpers accost Christian, angrily remove him from the room, and push and drag him out the front door. In his manic state, Michael fails to lock the front door properly. After a minute, Christian waltzes back in.

From the chaos outside, the camera cuts back inside, where the extremely soft-spoken, paternal grandmother is now singing an extremely solemn, traditional hymn for the guests. This isn’t an act of faith on her part. Instead, it is an empty ritual that is only serves to distract from and avoid the harshest of realities.

Christian re-enters the dining room and continues where he left off. He gives more specific details of his mother’s complicity. He is physically removed again, but this time, more violently. Helge declares that his son is very sick, and he instructs his mother to continue singing, and she does: “There is such idyll, peace and calm…”

Outside, the scene shifts from the absurd and even comical to increasingly disturbing violence. Michael and his helpers rough up Christian, finally tying him to a tree in a nearby wooded area, where they leave him indefinitely.

With Christian gone, the partygoers assume he went home, presumably defeated (and probably just crazy?). Once again, the celebration can continue.

Bitter Medicine on The Celebration‘s Menu

Next, everybody at the dinner party dances a conga line around the dining room, singing a silly, traditional song. When things finally reconvene and everyone is seated again, it is time for another of the scheduled toasts.

This is a good time to discuss the pacing of Vinterberg’s The Celebration. Again, the director seems to appreciate that humans don’t usually like to be exposed to too much darkness, too fast—and this goes for moviegoers as well. To go behind this family’s closed doors requires a special touch. Vinterberg gives viewers as much as they can handle at any given time without completely overwhelming them.

To move beyond the darkness in The Celebration, viewers must first swallow a tough pill: a tragedy has already occurred, yet something positive may come from it. While the realities of the family’s painful secret sink in over the course of the story, Vinterberg also provides just enough positive moments to suggest that hanging in there will pay off. It is a remarkable balancing act.

This subject matter is so tricky, however, that it will take even more effort to keep viewers engaged. Vinterberg thus infuses humor throughout. To be clear, this humor is not intended to minimize the tragedy in question. Instead, the comedy works in two important ways.

First, Vinterberg has already foreshadowed some sense of hope and eventual success for Christian, so viewers can relax a little bit. Second—and bear with me for a second—but the familial abuse raised in The Celebration is so tragic and heartbreaking that it accentuates just how absurd, pathetic, and pointless the denial of it is. The joke is on the perpetrator and his enablers.

The Celebration really isn’t a “black comedy”, though many reviewers, outlets, and even Wikipedia have labeled it such; Vinterberg rejected the label as well. Here, the actual death and the abuse are not what are seen as funny. What is funny is the absurd lengths to which we go to avoid facing reality, even when it is squarely in our faces. This is emphasized in scenes like the hymn and the characters of the toastmaster and the recurring comic relief from a sad-sack cousin named Bent, and so on. The Celebration is the heaviest of psychodramas, but, yes, it is also, somehow, very funny.

Michael most embodies this cluelessness, as he continuously and rather pathetically tries to quiet Christian for the sake of their father. Michael epitomizes all who try to ignore the worst of acts in our social and political lives, even when there is no rational reason to do so. He is unhinged to the point of slapstick, with his pratfall, his failure to simply lock a door, and his otherwise pointless behavior.

Indeed, like many of us in similar situations, Michael is on what feels like denial autopilot; he will do anything to gain the approval of an authority figure, despite overwhelming evidence that this figure is depraved, a liar, and shows no concern for him. Clearly, much of his identity, his sense of self, has long been defined by this sick hierarchy. In his world, he can only feel worthy as a person if Helge gives him approval.

Just Desserts

In The Celebration‘s final act, there is one remaining piece of the family facade left to be shattered. Christian has found out about Linda’s note, and he then also requested that Helene give the final toast, hoping she will read it to everyone. It is Christian’s last plea for some support from someone in his family.

Helene gives the toast and reads the note to the guests. It is the heaviest of goodbyes. Linda wrote that she knew a sibling would play the game and find the note. She says she loves her siblings, but that she indeed took her own life. The reason: “Dad has been having me again. In my dreams, anyway.” She also wrote that she believes there is “light and beauty on the other side.” It closes: “I love you forever, Linda.”

In the devastating silence that follows, the spell is broken. Helge orders the staff to fill the wine glasses, but, for the first time, they won’t take his orders. Helge spews rage and venom. The unraveling is complete. In one last and possibly perfect comic line, the toastmaster stands and deadpans: “It is quite a job being toastmaster tonight.” There is still some desert and dancing to be had, but everything has changed.

Shortly thereafter, Christian faints, and he has a dream of sorts in which he is reunited with Linda. It is in a dark room, where The Celebration‘s natural lighting comes only from a lighter held by Christian, and Linda stands just on the other side of a doorway. It is an overwhelming and transcendent scene. Viewers are left to wonder if it is a dream, a paranormal event, or a hallucination, though it may not matter.

The siblings and their partners stay up late into the evening together, having drinks, laughing, and dancing. Michael also comes to realize that he has been completely duped for his entire life. All of his immense rage has been completely misplaced. Later in the evening, he goes outside and smacks Helge around. He is even about to urinate on him until Christian arrives and intervenes.

As dawn creeps in through the hotel windows, the camera’s pixels become noticeably more visible, as if the film is deteriorating along with the old ways of the family. At breakfast, Christian is able to open his heart to Pia. Helge appears, but he is banished from the room and from the family. The Celebration‘s last shot is a close-up of Christian, not looking so much triumphant, but pensive, and pondering a new life (and maybe a whole lot of therapy). The scene seems to be an homage to the similarly ambiguous close-up ending of the classic 1959 film of bad childhoods, François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows.

Our Familial Feasts

Thomas Vinterberg got the idea for The Celebration after hearing someone tell a story on a radio show. That turned out not to be a true story, but its meaning rang true for many. Indeed, The Celebration connected with people worldwide, and those from families with far fewer problems. Mental health professionals praised the film’s depiction of abuse and denial.

The Celebration also did well commercially on the arthouse circuit, and it garnered loads of accolades, including a Palme d’Or nomination and the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival. In 2025, it was adapted as an opera, Festen, by the Royal Opera House in London.

Family struggles and denial are as powerful and as personal as any issues one might deal with, and they are largely universal. Thus, everything discussed in this article so far makes The Celebration among the most important films made. What about its broader, societal implications?

Vinterberg saw the family dynamics depicted in The Celebration as “universal. In a 1998 interview, the director noted that the story of the Black character, Gbatokai, had “a parallel” to Christian’s story, relating to an “anxiety of the ‘foreign’.” That is, if anyone threatens the status quo of a dysfunctional system, it is easier to exclude, scapegoat, and direct repressed anger towards the perceived threat than to consider the system itself. In 1999, Vinterberg told Cineasté magazine, “Maybe the reason for fascism growing stronger throughout Europe can be found in the family structure.”

Could it really be that simple? Could otherwise reasonable political views be badly twisted as a result of authoritarian parenting and the inevitable childhood trauma? Perhaps authoritarians in power today and those who support them would benefit from facing and naming their familial demons, too. If only humankind could heal itself thusly.

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