In Above the Knee [+lee también:
entrevista: Viljar Bøe
ficha de la película], the new film by Norwegian independent filmmaker Viljar Bøe after Good Boy, Amir’s life seems perfect, but he has a secret: he’s convinced his left leg doesn’t belong to him. Fantasizing about a life without it, he becomes determined to get rid of the pesky limb, but he can’t tell anyone – certainly not his girlfriend. We met up with him at the Haapsalu Horror and Fantasy Film Festival (HÕFF).

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Cineuropa: I recently read The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat [non-fiction book by neurologist Oliver Sacks]: these issues, while extreme, are not exactly uncommon. Why did you want to explore it?
Viljar Bøe: I’m not sure where I first came across the condition, but what really pulled me in was finding a Reddit page dedicated to BID [body integrity dysphoria], where people anonymously shared their experiences. The tone of those posts was often quiet, desperate and deeply isolating. Many of them had no one they could confide in, so they turned to online forums just to be heard. That stuck with me: the sheer loneliness of it. What really unsettled me was how casually some would talk about wanting to remove a limb or lose their sight. It felt alien and hard to comprehend, but also incredibly human in its pain.

I watched several YouTube videos and documentaries about BID, and comment sections were filled with hate, mockery and judgment. People ask: ‘Why would an able-bodied person want to become disabled?’ It feels like a slap in the face to those who live with disabilities. But what are these people supposed to do if this is how they truly feel? That level of shame and social rejection makes it very clear why they’re so hesitant to tell anyone. To me, this is the heart and center of the film.

I’ve always been drawn to stories about obsession: characters who are consumed by something they don’t fully understand. There’s something powerful about diving into the psychology of people who are on the fringes, and trying to portray their experiences with empathy, even when it’s uncomfortable.

You don’t hurry – you take your time. But anticipating what might happen to him was just as scary.
Compared to Good Boy, which hinges on the audience being caught off guard by the twist, I wanted Above the Knee to take almost the opposite approach. I think – or at least I hope – it’s pretty clear what Amir is going to do. That inevitability interested me. I wanted the audience to sit with that same sense of dread he feels: not rushing toward the moment, but slowly inching toward it, powerless to stop it. Sometimes the anticipation, the waiting, is more unsettling than the act itself.

Are you interested in genre films that suggest more than they show? This is very much a psychological thriller rather than pure gore.
While I do enjoy gory movies, I’m definitely more drawn to psychological stories. With both Good Boy and Above the Knee, my goal was to create something that gets under the audience’s skin: not just through shock, but by exploring thoughts and feelings that might make them uncomfortable. I’m more interested in tension, in the slow unraveling of a character’s mind and the kind of horror that lingers with you because it feels disturbingly close to real human fears and obsessions.

You’re not looking for explanations here. He feels his leg doesn’t belong to him – it’s that simple. Were you afraid the audience might find it too baffling, however?
I wanted this film to feel deeply subjective: told entirely from the main character’s perspective. We weren’t going to explain much of what Amir already understands about himself. He’s been living with BID for a long time. It’s not something he’s questioning: it’s his reality. If Good Boy was more voyeuristic, then Above the Knee is the opposite. I wanted the audience to feel what Amir’s feeling rather than trying to diagnose or rationalize it.

What were you looking for when choosing your main actor? He’s surrounded by white people: he belongs, but he’s still an outsider. I wonder if questions of identity or race were on your mind, too.
That’s a very interesting observation. It wasn’t something we actively discussed while writing the script, though Freddy Singh, who plays Amir and also co-wrote the film, might have brought that layer into the story on a more subconscious level. What we did talk about was how his background, being more culturally strict, would make it even harder for him to accept the thoughts he’s dealing with. That added pressure and internalized silence shaped how the character evolved. While identity and race weren’t front and centre thematically, those dynamics absolutely informed the emotional reality of the film.

His conundrum is troubling, but it’s also a bit funny. I mean, how could you share something like this with your partner?
With all my films, I try to strike a balance between absurdity, humour and unease: ideally, all happening at the same time. What’s interesting is how differently people respond to it. Some viewers find certain moments in the film quite funny – others are deeply unsettled. We approached the subject of BID very seriously, since the entire story is told from Amir’s point of view. It’s almost played as a straight drama. But ironically, that sincerity made the film feel even more absurd and, at times, darkly funny. That tension between the tragic and the bizarre is something I’m always drawn to.