Sick of Myself

In the cool gray of contemporary Oslo, a relationship that has always teetered on the edge finds itself thrust into a new, unsettling rhythm. The city’s modest cafés and cramped apartments become the backdrop for a quiet battle of egos, where ordinary moments ripple with unspoken expectations. The film’s tone drifts between understated melancholy and a sharp, almost feverish humor, hinting that love can be as precarious as the thin line between admiration and resentment.

Signe works the night shift behind a coffee bar, mastering the art of small gestures while silently wrestling with feelings of invisibility. Her partner, Thomas, spends his days shaping discarded furniture into provocative sculptures, chasing a dream that suddenly seems within reach. As his work begins to attract attention, the imbalance between them sharpens, turning everyday interactions into a subtle contest for validation. The audience watches a couple caught between support and rivalry, each yearning to be seen while fearing to be eclipsed.

The story follows their spiraling competition, a relentless game of one‑upmanship that transforms affection into a fragile performance. With every success and every perceived slight, the tension tightens, exposing a toxic cycle of seeking acknowledgment at any cost. The film invites viewers into a world where ambition and insecurity intertwine, leaving the characters—and the audience—questioning how far one will go to reclaim the spotlight before the very foundations of the bond begin to crumble.

Last Updated: August 09, 2025 at 20:50