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This chapter will discuss a selection of Norwegian drama series, commissioned by Netflix, known as Netflix Originals, regarded as productions in which Netflix’s ambitions and strategies are most clearly manifest. The Norwegian Netflix Originals selected for this chapter are discussed through examining Netflix’s self-promotion as an investor in local content, analysing the extent to which the series identify themselves as distinctly local by tapping into ideas of Norwegian-ness. Although these series arguably have a distinct local sense to them, nevertheless, it is equally relevant to state that they offer a generic version of localness in which actual space-specific markers are erased. As such, the series offer an idea of Nordic-ness aimed at an international audience. In an international catalogue, these titles stand out as exotically local, which might constitute their marketing ‘hook’ for audiences. The chapter follows the trend of SVOD scholarship, as exemplified by Amanda Lotz and Ramon Lobato (2023), by being positioned at the intersection of textual analysis and media industries studies.
When US-based Netflix introduced itself on the global market as a streaming provider offering subscription video on demand (SVOD) services—‘streaming provider’ and ‘SVOD’ were not exactly household terms at the time—Norway played a significant role. In 2012, Netflix picked up the international distribution rights for the Norwegian drama series Lilyhammer, commissioned by the Norwegian public service broadcaster NRK, and launched the series worldwide as a Netflix Original. Norwegian television drama had gained little traction internationally, in contrast to Danish television drama (Nordic noir was not yet a term in vogue), and Netflix represented a new kind of distributor that NRK found interesting to work with (Sundet, 2017).
Lilyhammer was created by Anne Bjørnstad and Eilif Skodvin at Rubicon, a production company that had produced mostly reality television and various formatted entertainment shows, which was their bread-and-butter, in addition to a few comedy and crime series for the commercial channels. They first pitched Lilyhammer in 2009, at a time when producers and creatives making Norwegian television drama were trying to adjust to the new concept of quality television drama (Sundet, 2017). At the time, Netflix was a fairly unknown entity in Norway—as elsewhere—just starting to introduce itself as a new kind of distributor of television drama series. The title, Lilyhammer, refers to the town of Lillehammer in south-central Norway. Famous as the site of the 1994 Winter Olympics, the gangster kingpin picks it as his new home under a witness protection programme where he takes on a new identity as Norwegian-American immigrant Johnny Henriksen. Attempting to blend in with the local community while acclimatising to Norwegian bureaucracy and the municipal Introduction Programme for the Newly Arrived, presents certain challenges to Johnny’s proactive approach to events, and he soon reverts to his gangster’s repertoire of problem-solving methods. Lead actor Steven van Zandt smuggles in a character similar to his Sopranos consigliere, and his deadpan expression is contrasted with the humour of backwoods, small-town pettiness.
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Lilyhammer was part of Netflix’s rollout to parts of Europe in 2012, which was vigorously marketed at the Marché International des Programmes de Communication (MIPCOM) festival in Cannes that year (and NRK was given due credit as co-producer). To everybody’s surprise, at least in Norway, the quirky mix of the gangster genre and bureaucratic red-tape comedy became a global hit. The show was advertised on billboards and posters and became central in building Netflix’s brand as a home for exclusive high-end drama series—even before prestigious series such as House of Cards (2013–2018) and Orange is the New Black (2013–2019). With Lilyhammer, Norwegian TV drama earned recognition and attention, while Netflix gained a strong foothold in the Nordic countries (Fig. 13.1).
Fig. 13.1
Lilyhammer poster in Times Square, New York City. Source WikiCommons
Since Netflix entered the European market in 2012, they reached some 50 million subscribers by the first decade, and the numbers are reportedly growing (Szalai, 2023).1 As Netflix is seeing a growth in subscriber numbers, it is also investing heavily in the region’s individual national markets. Recognising that most of its new subscribers are coming from outside the USA, its production strategy is shaped by a diversified approach. By 2024, Netflix produced more than half of its content internationally (McLennan, 2024). A decade earlier, its international catalogues saw a balance of 15–20% local content, and 80–85% global (i.e. US) content (Lobato, 2019). The aggregated local content was more than 15–20% of the total catalogue, but the current trend should still be seen as significant. In contrast to other global streamers, such as Amazon Prime and Disney+, Netflix is not dominated by American titles. Yet its titles are not necessarily local or regional either, rather, they are drawn from a variety of different countries (Lotz et al., 2022). Netflix’s commitment to commissioning content from several individual national markets is partly driven by policy demands such as national quotas and domestic investment or production, most notably the EU’s Audiovisual Media Service Directive (AVMSD) with different national addenda specifying how the obligations are shaped (Lobato et al., 2023). Notwithstanding, Netflix’s expansion into different territories is founded on its multinational commissioning and investment in local content (Lobato, 2019; Lotz, 2023). This diversified approach to its library content fits well with Netflix’s brand of promoting local stories on the screen.
In having the creation of local productions as a business model, one could imagine that the lesson learned from the success of Lilyhammer was to continue with the formula of place-specificity and genre-bending narratives—possibly also to have a continued prominence of Norwegian (and Nordic, in general) television shows. If nothing else, distributing such a place-specific drama series would seem to suggest that the notion of region is of importance when Netflix engages in Norwegian productions (as well as those from other places). This understanding is further enhanced by Netflix’s industry brand as offering authentic local stories to a global audience. However, what constitutes local, or regional, is not always a given, even with ‘authentic’ as modifier. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the concept of region/regional held by Netflix differs from the more familiar one held by public funding bodies, such as the Norwegian Film Institute whose policy position is to secure production of stories from all over the country, as well as to secure jobs for local film talent.
This chapter will discuss a selection of Norwegian Netflix drama series, commissioned by Netflix known as Netflix Originals. What is recognised as a Netflix Original will be discussed below. The Originals have been understood as productions in which Netflix’s ambitions and strategies are most clearly manifest, as they—potentially—provide a distinction from content offered by other services. As argued by Amanda Lotz, ‘these are programs through which the service can most precisely articulate its identity or pursue a content strategy’ (2021: 201–02). The Norwegian Netflix Originals selected for the purpose of this chapter will be discussed in light of Netflix’s self-promotion as investing in local content, analysing the extent to which the series identify themselves as distinctly local by tapping into ideas of Norwegian-ness. The chapter follows the trend of SVOD scholarship as exemplified by Lotz and Lobato (2023), by being positioned at the intersection of textual analysis and media industries studies. The first section will present the SVOD services’ presence and relative strength in terms of market share in Norway, where Netflix holds the position as the dominant streaming company. The following section lays out the categories by which the titles in the Netflix library are organised, based on financing and production model. The final section addresses how a group of Netflix Original productions relate to issues of regionality. The examples represent popular genres which have been given prominent coverage in the national press. Three of the titles were among the first Norwegian Netflix Originals to be commissioned since Lilyhammer, while the final example came at the point when Netflix strengthened their strategic interests in the Nordic region.
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Streaming Services and Their Presence in Norway
Norway is known for its high density of SVOD subscribers mainly comprised of early adopters of internet-based television. The television signals in Norway were digitised at the end of the 2000s, and, since the first part of the 2010s, the major broadcasters have offered their own media player and catch-up services—either for free or subscription-based, or some combination thereof. Leaving the public service broadcaster NRK aside, with their free media player, the numbers show that Netflix is, unsurprisingly, the leader in the field of SVOD services, by a solid margin in terms of market share.
The density and popularity of streaming service providers is high in Norway. In 2023, 88% of the population had access to one or more SVOD services. This consolidated the record high number reached in 2022, which again represented a jump from 74% in 2021 (Bekkengen, 2024). The statistics for streaming services include the broadcaster TV2’s digital web player—TV2 Play—which is subscription-based, and excludes the NRK player, which can be accessed for free. YouTube and other ad-based video outlets are also excluded from these statistics. Netflix holds by far the biggest market share, with 69% (see table below). This represents a small gain from the last two years. TV2 Play, on the other hand, has seen a significant increase in numbers and is now at 40%. Disney+, at 36%, is also witnessing a steady growth, especially compared to 2021 numbers. They are now about equal to HBO Max (38%) and Viaplay (37%). If TV2 Play and Disney+ continue their growth, it is most likely to be at the expense of either HBO Max (simply ‘Max’ as of 2023) or Viaplay. The numbers suggest that most people subscribe to more than one provider, probably one in addition to Netflix. Netflix also dominates every age group category as the preferred service (Fig. 13.2).
Fig. 13.2
Proportion of the population with access to paid subscriptions to various streaming services: 2021–23. Source Statistics Norway
The turn from linear television to digital viewing has opened the door for, potentially, unlimited platforms or services offering audiovisual content. Their perceived relevance will be measured in part by their list of domestic productions. Here, Netflix’s model of outsourcing their productions to, mostly local, film and television producers, has given it great flexibility, whereas Disney+, for example, relies more on its own established properties and studio productions (Chalaby, 2023). Netflix’s particular strength is that ‘it can effortlessly combine the local and the global within the one platform and constitute itself as many different products simultaneously’ (Lobato, 2019: 161, original emphasis).
Commissioning TV series in the 2020s is, in many respects, quite different from what it was in the 2010s, when Lilyhammer spearheaded its way to global success. In the years after Lilyhammer, Netflix and HBO (which at that time were the only two SVOD commissioners operating in the Nordic countries) paid only lukewarm attention to Norwegian productions. This changed towards the end of the 2010s. Until recently, all the largest SVODs also commissioned dramas produced in Norway and other Nordic countries. Netflix’s main European office is in Amsterdam. Until recently, all commissioned and co-commissioned projects had to be run by the Amsterdam office. The general conception has been that ‘local’ is whatever the office in Amsterdam understands it to be—with the office in Los Angeles also overseeing these decisions. Netflix engages with the creatives in the various regions it operates, and it claims to be open to local ideas and content. However, the final decision was made by executives centrally, geographically and culturally at a distance from the regional creatives and producers (Idiz, 2024).
Netflix’s approach to the Nordic region changed in spring 2021. Beyond Amsterdam, Netflix had expanded its European offices to major cities including Berlin, Brussels, London, Madrid and Paris. Approaching the Nordic countries was the next step. Netflix announced it would open an office in Stockholm, to ‘function as a hub for the region’, with a satellite office in Copenhagen opening later that year. In public statements, the company leaders highlighted their wish to ‘further support the region and to reflect the diversity of talent we work with’. Lina Brouneus, Director of Acquisition and Co-production, declared: ‘Now is the time for us to get even closer to our members, the creators, filmmakers, partners and cultural communities throughout the Nordics’ (in Wisman 2021). Brouneus avowed further that Netflix had always felt at home in the Nordic countries and pointed to the fact that this was one of the first places it made Originals outside the US. Obviously, Brouneus is alluding to the significant part Lilyhammer played when Netflix entered the European market, and the Nordic countries proved important as early adopters.
Coincidently, at the same time, in the summer of 2021, HBO Max closed down its Scandinavian office caused by its merger with WarnerMedia and the concomitant restructuring of the company. Additionally, HBO Max also withdrew several of its commissioned titles from its library as part of their new strategy to free up licensing deals (Ravindran, 2022). Just as Netflix and HBO Max were shifting their strategies, Viaplay emerged as the most prolific commissioner of television series and film in the Nordics. In Norway, Viaplay quickly became the leading contender for commissioned drama series, its volume surpassing that of NRK and TV2. The Swedish-owned Viaplay, which is part of the NENT Group, publicly stated its goal of bringing Nordic stories to a global market. As part of its strategy, in 2019 Viaplay enrolled as a financing partner at the Nordic Film and TV Fund (NFTF), where it joined all the other major Nordic broadcasters. As a regional SVOD covering the Nordic countries, Viaplay has the characteristics of a single market SVOD, recognised by local language originals, ‘featuring stars and genres familiar to the relevant national market’ (Lobato et al., 2023: 38). Its strategy to enter other territories in Europe and North America was in part based on the capitalisation of the Nordic drama series as a brand, in combination with rights to major sporting events. However, Viaplay experienced a financial meltdown in 2023. As part of the liquidation of the firm, it cancelled projects and sold off rights. Several of the titles previously attached to Viaplay have been picked up by Netflix. Amazon Prime is also signalling ambitions as a drama commissioner, through its purchase of a huge slate of series that Viaplay had in development (Hofsrud, 2024).
These buy-ups might signal an interest in investing in content that resonates more with local tastes that are more familiar with national broadcast traditions, rather than content tailored towards an international audience. This is a shift seen elsewhere (Lobato et al., 2023). As will be discussed in further detail below, Norwegian Netflix Originals have often lacked distinctive markers of place specificities. This kind of watered-down localness has resulted in rather unenthusiastic reviews in the national press.
The Different Routes to Drama Acquisition
There are, in short, basically four ways for Netflix, and other streaming services, to acquire content. They can either acquire shows that have had their run on a broadcaster or syndicated network previously; or they can commission or produce their own shows. Between these two options, there are two other variants: to be the host of new seasons of already-established shows or to enter some kind of co-production deal with a broadcaster. Naturally, there are variations within each category, depending on, among other things, the status of the production and financing plan. The label ‘Netflix Original’ can be quite confusing, as it can be applied in order to signal exclusive licensed content, just as much as a special kind of commissioned content. The best way to identify the full originals—developed and produced exclusively for Netflix—is to monitor online trade journals, such as rushprint.no and kampanje.com in Norway. The following description is informed by the work of Afilipoaie et al. (2021), Hidalgo-Mari et al (2021) and Lotz (2021).
The first option, which has been the most common in television, is to buy the licensing rights to second (or subsequent) windows. A large part of Netflix’s catalogue has been made up of licensed shows, also known as acquired rights, available for a limited time. A Spanish study (Hidalgo-Mari et al., 2021) identifies the acquisition of rights as the most prominent type of content distributed by Netflix. These titles have usually run their course in their premium window (most often a television channel) and might also have been distributed to (a limited number of) other territories, such as other Scandinavian countries. Sometimes, these titles are even promoted as Netflix Originals in other territories. Such was the case with the war drama series Nobel (2016), produced exclusively for NRK, and presented in the USA as a Netflix series (Wayne, 2017). Likewise, the political thriller Okkupert/Occupied (TV2, 2015), became an international success when promoted by Netflix. Later the series moved to Viaplay, which co-produced the continuing seasons with the broadcaster TV2. Licensed acquisition is fairly inexpensive, and it adds volume and a local touch to Netflix’s library, which has been an important marketing point. Additionally, acquiring prior rights also enables Netflix to meet the requirements of national quotas, while the titles might be ‘buried’ in the catalogue, given little to no visibility on the launch page. The attraction of Netflix’s library catalogue is based on an idea of the availability of endless lists of cherished shows. With the rise of competing SVOD service providers, such as Disney+, Paramount+ and Showtime, as well as the merger between HBO and Warner, many of the previously licensed shows have been brought back to their original IP holders. Consequently, the three other options gain in significance.
The second, and perhaps most obvious option is to take part as a co-commissioner, where the content might be locally developed and then produced jointly with Netflix. This has been part of Netflix’s acquisition strategy since its early days, with Lilyhammer as a prominent example. The timing of Netflix’s engagement can vary from project to project. Commonly, a project is under development with a television channel as commissioner. In these instances, the television channel typically commits 40% of the budget (this is the standard share in Scandinavia). The rest of the budget needs to be financed through international sales deals, production funds and co-production agreements. With the increasing cost of producing television drama, co-commissioning has become a necessity. Depending on the timing, Netflix will finance the remainder of the production. Usually, the TV channels get a limited national premium window (linear and on a dedicated media player), while Netflix holds worldwide rights plus a second window in the originating country. This was the case of Grenseland (Borderliner) (2017), originally developed for TV2, which was their most expensive series to that date. As a business model, Netflix benefits from obtaining a well-developed quality series for 60% (or sometimes less) of the budget. Broadcasters tend to view this as a less favourable, albeit necessary, production model. When engaging in a co-commissioner deal, Netflix will exert firm control by demanding regular reports and keeping a strict eye on budgets and expenditure. The co-commissioned titles are often labeled a ‘Netflix Original’ outside the home market.
A third, and much less frequently employed option is to take over the rights to the continuation of already-established popular shows. The first seasons of such shows have already established a steady following at another broadcaster, and, either due to cancellation, or by outbidding the TV channel, new seasons are created exclusively for Netflix. Internationally, the most renowned series is perhaps the Spanish-made Money Heist (2017), and the British-made Black Mirror (2011). Netflix’s buy-up of content from Viaplay includes continuing seasons of Norway’s Pørni (2021-), a favourite among both critics and the audience. In this comedy-drama, creator and lead actress Henriette Stensrup plays a single- mother, who struggles to balance daily challenges related to her work as a child welfare officer with bringing up her own children, frustrations with her ex-husband, and finding new love.
The fourth option is for Netflix to commission exclusively (the full Netflix Original). In this case, Netflix works with local independent production companies but still handles every step of the process from development and production to distribution. The commissioned titles are where we are able to see Netflix’s understanding of subject matter in its purest sense, as they oversee every decision made. Of course, this does not mean that the production company and its creatives have no voice, but Netflix receives regular reports and makes the final decisions (Idiz, 2024). These projects tend to have an air of secrecy before their release (perhaps due to corporate culture), and Netflix exercises tight control over budget and monitors progress carefully. One obvious benefit for producers and production companies is that Netflix acts as a one-stop shop. These productions are what are commonly understood as ‘Netflix Originals’.
In their study, Hidalgo-Marí et al. (2021) point to acquired rights as traditionally making up the most significant part of Netflix’s catalogue. This kind of content is also by far the cheapest to buy and distribute, and the acquired rights can often take the form of bulk deals (Afilipoaie et al., 2021). However, Hidalgo-Marí et al. identify a downward trend from 2018 to 2019, which also saw a considerable increase in Netflix’s investment in its own original content. As already mentioned, this happened around the time when new competitors entered the SVOD market, in which the major players brought previously licensed content back into their own catalogues. Interestingly, Hidalgo-Marí et al.’s data points to acquired rights being heavily tilted towards non-English language shows.
As for co-commissioning, Lotz (2022) contends that this is a strategy commonly used by Netflix, making up nearly a quarter of Netflix’s scripted commissions in 2020. This corresponds with the investment trend identified by Afilipoaie et al. as well. In contrast, the continuation of already-established shows makes up just a modest portion of the titles found in the different studies. Finally, both Hidalgo-Marí, et al. and Afilipoaie et al. detect a significant increase of original Netflix productions after 2018, and these titles now have a prominent position in its library. This trend corresponds with Netflix’s international expansion of production offices, as part of its ambition to solidify its position in different territories in Europe and elsewhere. Thus, originals are not only exclusive content, important in the competition with other global streaming providers, they also signal a commitment to engaging with local stories in languages other than English.
Norway Through the Lens of Netflix Originals
Netflix’s brand is based on various iterations of engaging with local storytellers and bringing original local stories to the world. Their flexible production model makes Netflix less monolithic than other global streaming services, something akin to ‘a collection of national media services tied together,’ as suggested by Lobato (2019: 184, original emphasis). By 2020, Netflix had become the biggest commissioner of new European scripted content (Rasmussen, 2024). However, Netflix’s idea of what constitutes ‘local’ appears to be quite flexible (Lobato, 2019). Their idea of local authenticity is coupled with the construction of a global and undifferentiated audience (Wayne & Uribe Sandoval, 2023).
Media and cultural policies in Norway, as well as numerous other countries, are geared towards support of works that express national identity and history, engage native discourse on social and cultural matters and make active use of local language. These national policy aims guide regulations and support schemes that frame and structure film and television production. This begs the question of how these national thematic identity markers can be located in the works. Taking Michael Billig’s excursions on banal nationalism as a point of departure, Mette Hjort (2000) discusses how national thematic aboutness is expressed in Danish cinema. Hjort suggests a distinction between ‘banal aboutness’, on the one hand, where the national and cultural markers consist of symbols and images that come across as indirect or trivial, even of becoming habitual. And, on the other hand, concentrated attention that foregrounds cultural elements to a degree that they become topical, engaging the awareness of the audience.
More recently, Lotz and Potter (2022) also draw on Billig’s notion in their assessment of Australian cultural policy measures and television drama. Here they suggest a tripartite scale to categorise how place is situated in the narratives, moving from placeless, in which there is an indifferent approach to the site in question; through placed, where there are signifiers relating to a geographic location, but with only marginal cultural specific significance; and finally to place-based, in which the story is truly anchored in a time and place in a way that reveals and engages with specific conditions of living in a particular locality. Lotz and Potter’s taxonomy of place has been followed up in the works of, among others, Wayne (2023).
The romantic comedy Hjem til jul/Home for Christmas (2019), a six-part limited series, was one of the first Norwegian Netflix commissioned originals. Home for Christmas centres on 30-year-old Johanne, who still struggles to let go of her feelings for her ex-boyfriend despite the fact that he broke up with her a couple of years ago. Frustrated by always being reminded by family and friends of her single status, she lies about her change of luck. In order not to be caught out lying, Johanna is now desperate to invigorate her love life. Home for Christmas is a typical romantic comedy that follows Johanne as she embarks upon a December dating spree so she can make good on her promise to bring home a boyfriend for the family celebration. In the course of the story, Johanne meets a number of men, and women, who take an interest in her and spark her love life. All the attention from the different suitors makes it hard for Johanne to decide on who Mr. Right might be, and she runs the risk of ending up empty-handed.
Most of the exterior scenes were shot in Røros, a picturesque mining city on the UNESCO heritage list, in the middle of Norway close to the city of Trondheim. In the series, the main street is dressed up for Christmas. In this snowy winter scenery, where everyone seems busy cheerfully preparing for Christmas, Johanne is able to move around using a spark (kick sled), which was a quite common method of transportation in the winter some decades ago. The story is not set in Røros, however. And for some reason, the old church tower, a landmark icon of Røros, has been digitally removed from the scenery. Furthermore, the interior scenes encompass a large shopping centre, a tram and a hospital where Johanne works as a nurse—none of which can be found in Røros. Johanne’s home is originally shot in an old part of Oslo, now gentrified, where the nineteenth century wooden houses are still intact. As she leaves the house, using her kick sled, the fluent editing transitions her street with the main street of Røros. The imagery suggests a cosy town, consisting of one and two storey buildings, connoting tradition—just as Christmas in Norway itself is an important traditional celebration (Fig. 13.3).
Fig. 13.3
Norwegian nostalgia for the eye of the tourist—Home for Christmas (Netflix, 2019)
The resulting impression is that this fictional place could stand in for any medium-sized Norwegian city—possibly located in the south-east, judging by the dialect spoken by most of the characters. Most of all, we are given a postcard image of snowy city scenery, lit up with Christmas decorations. The mood is easy and relaxed and everyone is friendly. The setting represents an imaginary Nordic city, something borrowed from a tourist brochure.
The extent to which Home for Christmas can be seen as expressing culturally specific social values, experiences, or other culturally defined identity traits can be explored by juxtaposing the series with another Netflix series, its Italian remake, Odio Il Natale/I Hate Christmas (2022). As a comparison reveals, the plot follows the original Norwegian version almost to the letter, with few exceptions. There is less nudity and depiction of raunchy sex in the considerably toned-down Italian version, which might attest to cultural differences. Other culturally significant changes include turning a self-centred ski athlete in the Norwegian version into an over-compensating, wheelchair-using gentleman and multi-millionaire owner of a winery in the Italian. In both the Italian and in the Norwegian versions, the lovelorn characters self-consciously quote Love Actually (2003) on multiple occasions.
The Italian version of the story takes place at the outskirts of Venice, at a small town called Chiogga, known as ‘Little Venice’. In this picturesque town, the days are sunny, and the characters constantly bump into each other accidentally in the half-empty streets. Here lives Gianna, longing to find a man to be her love interest. When she is off work from the local hospital, Gianna meets her close-knit group of girlfriends at a local street café or bides her time in the spacious apartment she shares with one of her friends (Fig. 13.4).
Fig. 13.4
Foregrounded idyllic Italian-ness—I Hate Christmas (Netflix 2022)
In all respects, the role played Chiogga/Venice in I Hate Christmas is the same as Røros in Home for Christmas—to conjure up a notion of Italian-ness, where you can travel by boat, walk the narrow streets in chic clothing, or experience the kind of tasteful luxury that is cultivated through generations. Given that the plot of the two series is almost identical, a foregrounded sense of place and local culture is what sets them apart.
It was a fitting coincidence that Netflix announced its deal to make Blodtur/Bloodride during the Berlin Film Festival of 2019, the year Norway was featured as the country in focus. Bloodride (2020) is an anthology series of six episodes, announced as horror stories. According to the press release, Bloodride is a ‘tongue-in-cheek horror anthology series, where each story is set in its own realistic, yet weird universe’.2 Generically, the episodes have much in common with the horror short stories of the early twentieth century, where the elements of the supernatural operate in tandem with a mystery story, often with a surprising twist at the end. Scriptwriter Kjetil Indregard cites television shows of the 1980s, such as the Roald Dahl-based The Tales of the Unexpected and The Twilight Zone as sources of inspiration, claiming that this genre so far has been absent in Norwegian productions (Steingrimsen, 2020).
Aside from the series’ generic form, there is nothing that binds the episodes together. Location, characters and plot themes are different for each story, except for the credit scene that shows a bus ride at night with all the characters present as passengers. The first episode, entitled ‘Ultimate Sacrifice’, takes place in what looks like a typical setting in south-east Norway, with vast acres of cornfields on both sides of the main road, adjoined by pine forest. Here, due to an economic setback, Molly reluctantly moves into a desolate rundown house together with her family—husband, daughter, and pet dog. Her neighbours come across as strange, and things become even stranger when she discovers a sacrificial stone in the middle of the forest—possibly dating back to pagan times, but still in use by the locals. Learning that the sacrifice will lead to wish-fulfilment, Molly also engages in the ritual with the hope of picking the winning numbers on a lotto ticket as a means to move back to the city. Molly learns that in order for the prize to be substantial, the sacrifice has to be commensurate, as her sacrificial gift progresses from animals to family members (Fig. 13.5).
Fig. 13.5
Pagan rituals in Norwegian backwoods—Bloodride (Netflix 2020)
Among the other sites we encounter in the different episodes of Bloodride are a summer cabin (also in a forest), a small village, possibly in the north-west of Norway, judging by the landscape, as well as the upmarket/affluent urban neighbourhood and the business skyline of Oslo. The scenery is beautiful (and always sunny) and is identifiably Norwegian. There are relatively few clues to their geographical settings, aside from what the landscape reveals, and the spoken dialects are more or less that of the standardised diction of Oslo and its surrounding area.
Three out of six episodes take place in rural areas of Norway and one could argue that these stories to some extent tap into Norwegian mythology and cultural identity. But in terms of plot and character types, there is very little that is nationally specific about the series. Among the people we meet is a rookie teacher at a rural school, drawn to the horrors of the past, three brothers with a compulsion for killing teenage girls and a business celebration gone awry. By and large, it is the landscape, both rural and urban, that conveys a local sense; the typical cabin in the woods, the rural costal village, and the recently constructed business centre in Oslo known as the Barcode. At the same time, the local markers are vague enough to represent almost anywhere as there is nothing in the stories that specifically binds them to the places where they are set.
The six-part series Post Mortem: Ingen dør på Skarnes/Post Mortem: Nobody Dies in Skarnes (2021) is another example of a typical Norwegian Netflix series from around 2020. As with Home for Christmas, it features a charming, somewhat awkward late twenties female character in the lead, and both stories are set in a semi-urban environment that conjure up a feeling of nostalgia. The story is a crime-vampire-comedy set in the small town of Skarnes, which opens with what appears to be a crime scene at a remote cornfield where the body of Live Hallanger is found. When she is brought in for her autopsy, she has obviously recovered, and awakens. She is feeling a bit numb, but otherwise fine, except for a craving for blood. Apparently, death does not come naturally in Skarnes, the dead do not stay dead long enough to be buried, much to the dismay of Live’s family who run the local funeral parlour. The lack of dead people is bad for the funeral business and the bills pile up while the coffins collect dust. At the same time, the local police are getting increasingly suspicious about the murder investigations that vanish when the victims reawaken, apparently unwilling to give a truthful testimony.
The location where the story is set, Skarnes, is an actual place in Norway. In real life, Skarnes has a population of approximately 2000, and is located about 20 km from the nearest city, Kongsvinger, about 100 km north-east of Oslo. Skarnes is typically one of the small towns you pass by on the highway; a remote town that most people in Norway know little about, if they have even heard of it at all. Its geographical position suggests a typical site of the Inland region (i.e. located between Oslo and Trondeim); a small, quiet town surrounded by open cornfields and vast forest. In the series, Skarnes is depicted more or less as a one-street town, with buildings dating back to the 1960s. Apparently nothing much has happened during the last half a century. Additionally, many of the interior scenes take place in a combined funeral parlour and family home, where the furniture and interior decoration also have a 1960s styling. Even the soundtrack features popular songs from the period. Watching how Skarnes is presented is almost like looking through an old weekly magazine from that period (Fig. 13.6).
Fig. 13.6
The place without a change—Nobody Dies in Skarnes (Netflix 2021)
The story, however, is set in the present day. While the visual style is thematically justified in terms of the story—the vampire theme is a kind of perpetual time loop starting several decades earlier—it also erases any distinctly local traits from the series. This makes the place appear as exotic—a strange place where strange things happen with likeable, but strange people. Even though the series has the name of an actual town (albeit little known) in the title, it nevertheless creates an imaginary place—a kind of nondescript time-frozen site that is a Nordic ‘anytown’.
Home for Christmas, Bloodride, and Post Mortem Nobody Dies in Skarnes, are series that have a distinct local sense to them that comes from tapping into ideas of Norwegian-ness/Nordic-ness. In an international catalogue, these titles stand out as ‘exotically local’—and that might constitute their marketing ‘hook’ for audiences. This can be witnessed by the international reception. As one Indian-based blog post declared: ‘the Norwegian series [Home for Christmas] offers a nice change of scenery thanks to its snow-capped city settings, between Røros and Oslo, which change us from New York, London or Los Angeles, and which remind us of the village of Santa Claus’.3 However, for a local audience, these places are just as generic as the stories. VG, the leading tabloid newspaper in Norway, characterised the series as a ‘pointless story … as if it doesn’t take place in the real world’ (Home for Christmas, 3 on the dice, Nilsen 2019), ‘not really worth rewatching’ (Bloodride, 3 on the dice, Bøe 2020), and ‘no need for deep concentration’ (Nobody Dies in Skarnes, 4 on the dice, Bøe 2021).4
A New Take on Regional Place
Forsvinningen—Lørenskog 31 Oktober2018/The Lørenskog Disappearance (2022) might be indicative of a new direction for Netflix commissioned series. Lørenskog, the place named in the title, is a suburban municipality on the eastern outskirts of Oslo known for its small-scale industrial plants. The pro-footballer turned film actor John Carew used to be Lørenskog’s most famous person. But in late 2018, Anne-Elisabeth Hagen, the wife of Norway’s most inconspicuous billionaire, Tom Hagen, was reportedly kidnapped; she is still missing. Since then, Lørenskog has become synonymous with what is simply called ‘the Lørenskog case’ in the media. The ongoing investigation has uncovered several leads—some quite spectacular—but no conclusive results and the case continues to draw public interest and receive extensive media coverage. Even at the time of writing (November 2024), the case is still making headlines in major news outlets (Thømt Ruud, et al., 2024).
The Lørenskog Disappearance is a five-part series that covers approximately two years of events from the day the kidnapping was reported. The story follows two main strands; the police investigation, led by Jorunn Lakke, and a newspaper’s handling of the case, with Erlend Moe Riise as the principal investigating journalist. In addition, there are some scenes where Tom Hagen and his family are at the centre, as well as occasional scenes that follow some of the criminal suspects. The series fictionalises actual events and the main characters are loosely based on several real-life persons. Much of the action takes place onsite at Lørenskog. The scenes frequently return to the place of the crime, the Hagen home at Sloraveien 4, and show the front of the house. This image of the house’s facade is frequently used in news coverage and has almost become an iconic representation of the case, recognised by anyone who has paid it any attention. The house is replicated in the series, as are a number of other sites. In fact, most of the events are shot at authentic places. For example, the actual gas station where Tom Hagen first made contact with the police is used in the series, a fact we know from crime reporters coincidentally passing by the shoot (Schmidt et al., 2021). One would think that any gas station would be suitable for a scene like this, nevertheless, the production team opted for the real one. Another example is the Lørenskog police station, which is located at the back of a shopping mall. This is hardly in line with generically conventional representations of police stations and yet the exteriors faithfully depict the shopping mall façade (Fig. 13.7).
Fig. 13.7
Shopping mall as the location for a police station—The Lørenskog Disappearance (Netflix 2022)
The series depicts a story that is anchored unequivocally in Norwegian reality. Any person in Norway who has paid the slightest attention to the news will recognise the content. Additionally, the visual representations of space are—with few exceptions—devoid of typical generic tropes. Even if you are unfamiliar with how Lørenskog looks, the way the exterior scenes are framed make them appear as authentically local. Characters and story events do not rely on formulaic depictions. Generically, The Lørenskog Disappearance is not a typical Nordic noir—if a Nordic noir at all. The plot is slow paced, following possible clues and dwelling on minute details rather than depicting action sequences and cruel murders. If anything, the series can be seen as akin to psychological crime dramas like the Netflix series Mindhunter (2017–2019) or the feature film Zodiak (2007), both directed by David Fincher, where the investigators (real and proxy) develop a compulsive obsession with the crime, which is never resolved. Although this is a rather small niche within the crime genre (at some point labeled ‘un-true crime’ by the creators), both story and setting are obviously place-specific.
The obvious artistic ambitions of the series can attest to it being an auteur-driven series, which cannot be said of any of the other Norwegian Netflix productions so far mentioned but in general as well. The creators are writer Nicolaj Frobenius, along with Stephen Uhlander, with Erik Skjoldbjærg directing. Frobenius is also a novelist whose work often explores the blurred lines between fiction and reality. Skjoldbjerg made his directorial debut with the noir thriller Insomnia (1997), co-written with Frobenius, one of several projects on which they have collaborated. Skjoldbjærg was also part of the creative team behind the series Occupied. Uhlander, for his part, was a co-writer on Nobel. As creators, they are known to strive for what is novel and have an interest in the enigmas and the unpredictable in the story material. From an artistic point of view, it is not surprising that The LørenskogDisappearance is featured in the Mubi catalogue—Mubi is a carefully curated streaming platform for cinephiles.
The Lørenskog Disappearance was already in development before Netflix opened its Stockholm office. So far it is too early, and the material is too scarce, to draw any conclusions about whether we are witnessing a change in Netflix’s approach to regional/national representation. More recent Netflix Original releases include Julestorm (A Storm for Christmas) (2022), a multi-narrative airport comedy drama, produced and directed by the team behind Home for Christmas and with screenplay written by the critically acclaimed author Lars Saabye Christensen. The series follows different people stranded at Oslo airport during a blizzard. Perhaps due to the nature of airports, there is little that draws attention to any kind of local specificity. Very little suggests that Netflix is about to abandon the commissioning strategy it seems to have followed since about 2019, resulting in series adhering to what Daphne Idiz et al. (2024) describe as a Netflix ‘house style’ consisting of ‘cultural markers potentially serving as interchangeable window dressing’ (2024: 16). However, there are signs emerging of a complementary strategy, as suggested by The Lørenskog Disappearance.
Conclusion: Back to the Origin?
As noted in the first part of this chapter, Netflix has a solid market share in Norway and other Nordic countries. The Nordic countries were also important when Netflix spearheaded its global launch. Perhaps Netflix will gain international success once again with place-specific, genre-bending narratives. A long-awaited, heavily promoted series, Lakseøya/BillionaireIsland, was released in autumn 2024. Billionaire Island comes from the creators and producers of Lilyhammer. The series is shot in the town of Florø, a small community on the northwest coast of Norway, and story follows a family of local salmon farmers that has become insanely rich. In real life, the ‘salmon billionaires’ (as they are known as in the local lore) are recognised as local patriots, promoting their engagement in the community and sponsoring public spaces (swimming pools, sports facilities and so on). Lately, however, they have fled to Switzerland as tax refugees.
The series opening vignette shows a spectacular scenery of the coastline, where the salmon plants testify to the domestication of wild nature. The vignette has intercut archival footage of state officials (royals and ministers) visiting coastal communities, accompanied by a golden oldie Norwegian folksong on the audio. The local markers are clearly flagged. Nearly all characters speak the same local dialect, recognisably from the middle of Norway, the cast includes a well-known (and loved) low-brow rock musician from the same area, and during a church ceremony, they sing a traditional psalm by Petter Dass, a seventeenth century priest, celebrating the coastal nature created by God. The series taps into a national interest in these ‘untypical’ billionaires (they do not live among the financial elites in Oslo, attend celebrity parties, or give frequent comments on television). As such, the series comes close to corresponding to Lotz and Potter’s definition of place-based drama. At the same time, the story follows the established generic patterns of family feuds combined with hostile business takeovers known from Dynasty to Succession (Roxborough, 2024). For an international audience, national exoticness is likely to appear mildly tempered.
With its new office in Stockholm, Netflix is signalling a shift in its approach to the Nordic region. The staff of commissioners have their background and special knowledge in individual countries of the region. Netflix repeatedly promotes their commitment to local content by supporting the vision of the creators. As stated in a newsletter from November 2024, Bela Bajaria, Netflix Chief Content Officer, claims that it is the “goal to make shows and films that resonate in their home country first” (Netflix, 2024). Whether this approach to commissioning content comes out of a well-calculated business strategy or is due to a heartfelt concern for local subscribers, is perhaps of less importance. For the time being, at least, the end result is a growing number of locally aware drama series.
Notes
1.
What is known as the EMEA region (Europe, Middle East, Africa), reportedly reached 76 million subscribers by 2022. EMEA is now the biggest region in terms of subscribers.
In Norway, film/television ratings go from 1–6, illustrated by the eyes on the dice.
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