“We need to find the right path for you. Where do you fit in? Where do you see yourself?” It’s a question posed early on as Robin plays chess with someone who monitors an interview practice with other participants. The camera doesn’t fully show Robin’s face at first and rather hones in on his neck as he swallows hard or his shaky knees as he attempts to quell his nerves. We will join Robin as he tries to slip into different arenas to figure things out for himself and Bertil Nilsson’s Masc is a surprisingly perceptive and delicate exploration of one person’s intersectionality and acceptance of himself.
Right off the bat, we are knocked off-kilter by Masc‘s structure, and I mean that as a compliment. Rarely do we have trust from a filmmaker to allow a character’s emotionality flow over us. Told in five separate, emotionally distinct chapters, Robin flows in and out of interactions with colleagues, gym buddies, family and friends. We witness him observing other people and trying to figure out whether he should, if anything, assume for himself. Maybe he is simply trying to mask parts of himself in order to watch behaviors from others?
In an early moment, Robin piles into the back of a car with Sky (Reece King) after they see a movie, and we wonder if it’s an actual date. They talk about what they thought about the flick before Sky tells a story about hooking up with a guy whose skin on his arms resembles the feeling of another part of his anatomy. Robin is confused as to why they are talking about this, and, in a later interaction, Robin pulls away when Sky tries to kiss him. Another film would hammer home the film’s theme of exploring Robin’s tentativeness and confusion as it relates to his neurodivergence, but Nilsson insists on staying in the moment with the characters, even with a unconventional structure.
For another section, Robin lifts weights at the gym with two friends who remove their shirts and compare their bodies. When Tega Alexander’s Benji invites Robin to stay over at his house after they stay up too late playing video games and Robin misses the last ride home, we can see the curiosity across Joshua Griffin’s face when he doesn’t know how the situation is going to play out. In between these moments, we see Robin dancing on his own or play fighting to himself as if that is a way that he creates space to untangle his own thoughts and moods.
Griffin delivers a captivating performance as someone who is trying to figure out what space he should occupy, and Nilsson’s unconventional approach to sexuality, gender, and neurodivergence is so welcome when other films wouldn’t spend the time to play around with the senses and the sense of touch. Sometimes scenes play out a second time with other people speaking in different roles, and it’s refreshing to see a film that is clearly so personal approach a character without explaining things directly.
Masc is not a thesis but an exploration, and it never proports to speak for everyone who is pondering intersectionality. There is a brief shot of Robin and a friend sitting on a roof as the sounds of the city buzz and envelop them. They don’t say a word to each other, but we know how meaningful this parallel play or quietness can be. Nilsson’s film is lyrical in its tiny discoveries and revelations.
