Mladen and Del review ‘Troll 2’
Image courtesy of Netflix.
“Troll 2” Starring Ine Marie Wilmann as eccentric troll chaser Nora Tidemann; Kim Falck as lovable self‑sacrificing Andreas Isaksen; what‑a‑great‑name Mads Sjøgård Pettersen as studly but kind Major Kristoffer Holm; Sara Khorami as sultry scientist and bureaucrat Marion Auryn Rhadani; and others. Directed by what‑another‑great‑name Roar Uthaug. 1 hour, 45 minutes. Rated TV-14. Streaming on Netflix.
Plot summary: After centuries of hibernation, a gigantic mountain troll is awakened and goes on a revenge-fueled rampage. A scratch group of lovable but eccentric scientists and lovable but bumbling bureaucrats must stop the creature before it reduces Norway to rubble.
Spoilers: Yes, this is a movie review after all.
Mladen’s take
When I imagine a troll, it’s a humanoid shape with a size that falls somewhere between a dwarf and an ogre or, in real world terms, between Rubio and Trump. I’m wrong about their size, if you believe Norwegians know more about trolls than me, a Croatian. In both the original 2022 “Troll” and the recently released “Troll 2,” these mythical creatures are, what, 15 stories tall, sentient, and scruffy. Without question, they should take some hair styling cues from Del.
While “Troll” is a very good movie, “Troll 2” is not. It just makes the cut as a B- because it’s too derived from the first “Troll” movie and predictable. But, “Troll 2” does have some merits despite its paint‑by‑numbers plot.
Ah, yes, the plot.
The federal government of Norway has shackled a tough‑looking mature male troll that was found hibernating. How do I know the troll is a male when its pubic region is covered by a thick growth of lichen? It lacks boobs, that’s how. Come to think of it, the algae beard is a bit of a giveaway, too.
Anyway, government scientists have reached a dead end studying the critter. They recruit troll whisperer Tidemann to help. She becomes instantly disgruntled because the bureaucrats and the military are treating the troll as an object and a threat because the troll in the first “Troll” movie rampaged trying to find its home in the mountains. Poof, in no time Tidemann is at the top of the scaffold erected near the troll. She approaches the troll, touches its warty nose, hums a Norwegian lullaby, and, whamo, the troll awakes. Mayhem ensues after the grandaddy of trolls, who I’ll call Buster, breaks free, steps on a few humans, and busts through the mountain redoubt where the government has been hiding him.
You may be asking why Buster is so angry, so determined, so focused on whapping Norway, whose people I’ve always thought of as being among the happiest and nicest in the world. Well, as it turns out, Norwegians haven’t always been so nice, especially when one of their medieval kings decided to force feed them, and trolls, Catholic Christianity.
I was enjoying the movie until Tidemann, accompanied by Isaksen, Holm, and Rhadani, commits a very non‑science‑y act. She goes to a cave where a late puberty troll is hiding from the world. She then asks the kid troll to stop the adult troll from wrecking Norway. And, I’m like, girl, ain’t no way your troll, ironically nicknamed “Beautiful,” stands a chance against Buster. So, yeah, Buster takes out Beautiful without the former every laying a hand, a paw, whatever, on the latter. I concede that the no‑fight is one of the cooler scenes in the movie. It deftly illustrated that Buster was a smart troll, indeed, but that scene, and a couple of others, aren’t enough to elevate the second movie to the original film’s level.
The CGI in “Troll 2” is good. The characters likable. The soundtrack adequate. Despite my unenthusiastic grade for the film, I recommend that you watch it. “Troll 2” has just enough moments sprinkled through its reasonable runtime to make it enjoyable. And, though you don’t need to see the original “Troll” to enjoy the unoriginal “Troll 2,” it won’t hurt. The way I figure it, you may as well see both to better prepare for the third Troll universe film that’s on the way.
Del’s take
First things first, let’s sort out the plethora of troll movies.
Back in the ’80s we had “Troll,” a not very good B horror movie, followed by a sequel in 1990, “Troll 2.” Didn’t much care for either. The trolls looked like Rat Fink dolls. (Fun facts: The lead actor in “Troll” was Noah Hathaway, who played the young boy Boxey in the original “Battlestar Galactica,” and Atreyu in “The Neverending Story.” His “Troll” character’s fictional name was “Harry Potter.”)
Then in 2010 came “Troll Hunter,” the first feature-length movie I watched on Netflix. That movie blew my mind. Or it might have been the six-pack of Corona I consumed while watching it. Either way, “Troll Hunter” set the standard for troll movies. I mean, c’mon on – a troll as big as a mountain contracting RABIES? What a trip!
Then in 2022, Netflix rolled out “Troll,” unrelated to the ’80s “Troll” or “Troll Hunter.” This new troll became Norway’s Godzilla – it stomped around, squashing buildings and whatnot. No fire breath. That could have helped. I liked it, though not as much as “Troll Hunter.”
Now we have “Troll 2,” another Netflix production and a sequel to the 2022 film. Same characters, same dilemma, just a tad sillier.
This movie’s strong points are its special effects, its setting (I never tire of seeing Norway’s beautiful back country and fjords), and its premise – that once, human beings and giant, humanoid creatures lived side-by-side in harmony, until religion arrived. That’s when trolls became persona non grata and were hunted down by marauding humans until only a few relics, unknown to modern man, remained within the deepest recesses of Norway’s Dovre Mountains.
“Troll 2’s” problems are as follows: It skimps on action, instead wasting valuable time re-establishing character backstories and hinting at romantic entanglements that go nowhere. As it happens, the pogrom against trolls is just one big screw-up resulting from a torn piece of paper – not even plausible in the error-prone Trump regime. Also, in my opinion, it relies too heavily on the viewer having seen the first movie. Apart from the viewpoint character and her military pal, I struggled to remember who these people were.
You’ll forgive my lack of wokeness on this issue, but the thought of gigantic, possibly rabies-infected monsters striding through major population centers leaves me feeling less concerned about their right to exist and more concerned about my right to not get squashed flat or eaten by said gigantic monster, which is exactly what happens in one ghastly scene where an enraged troll rips the roof off an Alpine disco and makes a quick snack of the badly dancing inhabitants within.
“Trolls 2” doesn’t give you much opportunity to worry about that. Instead, we see the military commander tasked with stopping this thing bringing his new love interest along on missions, which confused me. I thought the Tidemann character was his girlfriend. She’s not? Somebody better let her know because she, in her eccentric way, is still flirting with him. We see the newly married bureaucrat trading Star Trek puns with his wife, who is pregnant with their first child, who will be named after a Star Trek character. At that point you know he’s doomed to Red Shirt status. And we see the military commander’s bitchy girlfriend undergo a total character transformation so that by movie’s end she’s solidly Team Troll. It’s all a little too convenient and trite for my tastes.
Sounds like I didn’t like it, eh? Not true. It was OK. I don’t think it was equivalent to the first “Troll” but the premise was so interesting I couldn’t NOT like it. I’ll go along with Mladen’s grade of a B-, though I should give it a B just to disagree with him.
“Troll 2” continues a legacy of Scandinavian filmmaking that does not receive the credit it’s due. “Troll Hunter” is a classic, as is the Norwegian adventure movie “The Wave” and its followup, “The Quake.” Throw in the Finnish Nazi zombie movies “Dead Snow” and “War of the Dead,” the two Sisu films and the superb Swedish horror film “Let the Right One In” and you’ve got a fine collection of provocative – and evocative – speculative movies that deserve more attention than they’ve received.
“Troll 2” is not on the same level as those films but it comes close.
You can see it on Netflix.
Mladen Rudman is a former journalist and technical writer. Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and writer.
Karen Wolfe (Jarnigan), Del Stone Jr., and Elizabeth Hefflefinger goof around in the parking lot of the Daily News in Fort Walton Beach, Fla., waiting for snow that was forecast to fall one Christmas Eve in the mid-1990s.
It’s a cold, gray day here in the panhandle of Florida and I’m remembering Karen Wolfe Jarnigan.
Thanksgiving Day, 1993. Karen is hosting a holiday get-together for us newsroom types at her Okaloosa Island townhouse. She’s got the Dolphins-Cowboys game on TV, and as a Dolphins’ fan, I’m mesmerized. She and I make plans for a concert in Pensacola. Then, a miracle on ice: A Cowboys player slips on the sleet-coated field and knocks the ball into the end zone, giving the Dolphins a chance to kick a game-winning field goal. They do. Dolphins win, 16-14.
Monday night. I’m city editor. Karen is cops reporter, something she doesn’t normally do. She must be filling in for somebody. There’s been a triple homicide, the ghastly Edward Zakrzewski case. The details are so horrible Karen is on the verge of tears, but she works the story and somehow gets the name of the suspect, which we report, exclusively, the next morning.
Five o’clock in the morning of Oct. 3, 1995. My telephone rings. I pick it up. “THERE’SACATEGORY3HURRICANEHEADINGRIGHTATUSCANIEVACUATE – ” I hold up my hand, placating, though she can’t see it because she lives 10 miles away in Mary Esther, with Tracey Steele and Marley the cat. I tell her to let me check the TV. I’ll call her right back. I turn on The Weather Channel. There’s John Hope, TWC’s geriatric hurricane expert, pointing to a nasty vortex called Opal, smack dab in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, racing for the western Florida panhandle. I call her back. “You can – ” “OK bye!” she shouts and drops the phone. Thus begins a strange evacuation odyssey that will be retold in stories for years to come.
I’m driving down Hollywood Boulevard one sleepy Saturday afternoon and I spot the complex of Cumulus radio stations coming up. On impulse I pull in to wave at Karen through the studio window during her afternoon gig. She drags me into the booth and we have an impromptu on-air session.
Doc calls and asks a favor. He wants me to make sure Karen is in the newsroom on a certain day at a certain time. He has something planned. So I come up with a cock-eyed story for Karen about an important interview subject dropping by the newsroom at the appointed hour. I need her to be there. Make sure she’s there! Karen asks questions. She knows something is up; she just doesn’t know what. We do this back-and-forth thing and I’m sure, I’m just POSITIVE, she’s going to bolt from the newsroom like a filly breaking out of its paddock. But finally, there’s Doc, over by Dorothy’s desk. He’s wearing a black tux. He’s carrying a dozen roses, so red they look like Disney roses. The newsroom falls silent as he threads his way through the desks to Karen. She’s understandably shocked. He drops to one knee, and Karen’s hand flies to her mouth, the way everyone’s hand flies to their mouth when they’re asked to share their life with another person. It’s all very, very good.
Karen and Doc’s wedding. It looks like most everybody from the Daily News and WKSM is there. It’s held at a church I’ve never attended; the room is bright. Everyone is happy.
Karen comes up with an idea. We should give a small award for people in the newsroom who’ve done a good job on a story, photo, column, page, or whatever. These awards would be given out each week during our Wednesday staff meeting. The presenter would rotate among the staff and would be responsible for picking out a token gift – a candy bar from the vending machine, an inexpensive plastic cup, just something. Everybody loves the idea. Thus, the Wolfie Awards are born, named for their creator. Eventually the newspaper pays a $25 stipend for each Wolfie. Even today, when Daily News vets from the ’90s and ’00s get together, the subject of the Wolfies comes up.
The year is 2000. I’m in Dayton, Ohio, for my niece’s wedding. At the reception I’m talking to Chris, a wise guy from the same part of New York where Karen once lived. I take out my brick of a cell phone, a trusty Nokia perpetually strapped to my waist, and call Karen. I tell her I’m talking to a wise guy from the same part of New York where she once lived. I hand the phone to the wise guy. He and Karen talk New York stuff. I approve. This is appropriate for a guy who’s four beers into his niece’s wedding reception.
Other memories, floating in my mind like confetti:
Karen ushers in the granny-gown-and-combat-boots look for the newsroom.
We go to the concert in Pensacola and people think I’m her dad.
I make Karen cry by being a jerk to her in a budget meeting.
Karen, Elizabeth Hefflefinger and I stand in the Daily News parking lot on a cold and cloudy Christmas Eve, watching for snowflakes that never fall.
And now, another memory. Of a phone call missed, and a text message with the terrible news.
Karen was a sweet soul.
She loved fiercely and she was loved with equal ferocity, not just by those who knew her but the community at large, which made her acquaintance through her stories in
the newspaper and her sessions at the radio station.
She is remembered by more people than we’ll ever know.
I’ve missed her for years, and I miss her even more knowing I can’t pick up the phone and yell, “Hey Wolfie! What are you doing?”
A sad day.
I want her husband, Doc, and her kids to know they brought her all the happiness a person can want in this world. In fact, I can’t think of a better epitaph for anybody:
She was happy.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .