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Where the heck is Andreas(Trond Fausa Aurvaag), exactly? Heaven? Hell? A parallel universe? When the bothersome man steps off the subway platform and meets an onrushing train, his next conscious moment occurs on a bus; riding solo, the newest arrival, in a dead netherworld where all the suicides go. Dressed as he was at the time of his sudden departure from the corporeal biosphere, Andreas is greeted by an official man, who processes and transports the bothersome man from the barren flatlands to a city, if the eyeballs work, is a dead ringer for the sort of urban landscapes that he once inhabited, if memory serves him right. Andreas retains the look of a sleepwalker in a trance, a man estranged from people and objects, struggling to find his bearings; at home, or rather, his assigned apartment; or at work, where the bothersome man is randomly designated as an accountant for an independent contractor. Havard(Johannes Joner), his boss, tells him, "You'll get used to it," which covers more than just crunching numbers, we suspect, in this world, same as the old world.
If life is meaningless, like French existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Satre said, the same can be said for death, as well. The subculture of office life might be heaven for one man, but it looks like hell to us, under the context that "Den Brysomme Mannen" operates on. To work in the afterlife, in essence, is to work for the rest of your life. The social intercourse among Andreas' office mates may pass as normal in the physical world, but death is a variable that creates estrangement in the viewer, as he/she now recognizes the drudgery of white-collar labor performed by white-collar laborers, who kill the hours with their inconsequential small-talk and designated jobs they perform during the course of a day like automotons, each and every day, seem irrational in its self-evident absurdity. To see daily life replicated in a speculative light, "Den Brysomme mannen" makes normal human interaction look like deadpan comedy, as quotidian life becomes a performance, which transforms Karl Marx's meaning of the word "alienation", because here, the men and women in the office, "do" identify with their labor, like actors in a play who conspire to make their fictionalized selves appear real. But the bothersome man never fully participates in the facade. He's always aware of the cracks.
From a wooden bench, Andreas witnesses the aftermath of a jumper, who impales himself on an iron fence while people on their lunch breaks walk on by, indifferent to his escaping intestines that create red splatters on the clean sidewalk. Andreas faces the same impassivity from his own co-workers after he purposely cuts off his own finger, with the hope that he'll feel the pain, on a paper slicer. He doesn't. It's just another sensation, in addition to being able to taste and smell that's lost to the bothersome man. This inability of being able to take solace in the simple pleasures, amplifies the bothersome man's need for love,where simple pleasures compensated for his loneliness in the physical world. At a dinner party, hosted by his boss, Andreas meets Anne Britt(Petonella Barker). They hit it off. He walks her home. She invites him in. They become a couple. He moves in. When they have sex, however, it's good for neither Andreas, nor Anne, who seems to get more pleasure out of interior design. Love is an abstract concept, another sensation that's unattainable in this world, but love matters to the bothersome man, so he tries again with Ingeborg(Birgette Lagen), a girl from work. "Den Brysomme mannen" deconstructs love by presenting its foundation as a series of gestures that require performances from both the man and woman. When Ingeborg doesn't elicit the same tender feelings for Andreas after his hyper-romantic gesture of leaving Anne Britt for her, this Norwegian film reveals its secrets about the prosaic, but odd city, with an open-endedness that's solvable, and offer up multiple interpretations.
Wounded by Ingeborg's apathy towards his avowal of love for her, the bothersome man wanders into the same subway station, stands at the same platform, leers at the same couple aggressively making out, and jumps. This time, he can't die. How can you die when you're already dead? Hit repeatedly by train after train, Andreas' face turns into ground beef; his body contorts in angles previously seen only seen in art. When the bothersome man realizes that love and death are out of his grasp, he seeks out the man from the club, who was willing to say what goes unsaid in this city of the walking dead. Which is: death, not life, has no meaning.
Getting to the bottom of the mystery behind Andreas' whereabouts drives the narrative, and to the filmmaker's credit, this enigma is satisfactorily addressed, in a scene that recalls Spike Jonze's "Being John Malkovich", when Andreas crawls through a tunnel in order to cross over into another world, like a newborn baby, which resembles the portal to Malkovich's brain that Craig Schwartz charges people to crawl through. Andreas' attempt to traverse the great divide presents a beguiling paradox. Since heaven and earth are literally separated by a wall, this vulnerable boundary acts as a perfect encapsulation of the atheistic belief that "heaven is a place on Earth". But at the same time, heaven is proved by the reality of a hell; the place that Andreas is sent to after being banished from the city of his destination.


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