J Paul Johnson
My Uncle Jens, the feature film debit of Brwa Vahabpour making its world premiere at the 2025 South By Southwest Film Festival, is in some ways a little like its titular antagonist: on the surface unassuming yet, once a little time is spent in company, full of surprises and more than a little insight. Mining the clashes between cultures and generations for its mild comedy, My Uncle Jens assuredly, gently ambles towards its unpredictable revelations and satisfying resolution.
Akam (Peiman Azizpour) is a young-ish literature teacher adulting in Oslo, where he shares a flat with his mates Pernille (Theresa Frostad Eggesbø) and Stian (Magnus Lysbakken). When his estranged uncle Khdr (Hamza Agoshi) shows up at his door, having arrived from the Iranian part of Kurdistan and going by the assumed name of “Jens,” Akam feels compelled to invite him in. Immediately, the two men seem at odds. Khdr speaks no Norwegian; Akam’s Kurdish is halting, at best. Khdr’s every word and action seem to question Akam’s lifestyle and values; Akam’s genteel demeanor and diplomacy is worn thin, and quickly, by Khdr’s habits.
Akam isn’t the only one put out when Khdr’s stay begins to look indefinite: the older man seems to have no plans, no destination, causing his flatmates Pernille and Stian to press Akam into action. But Akam can’t pawn Khdr off on anyone else, and so for a time, the younger man seems stuck with his “Uncle Jens.” In the hours when he’s not teaching his young charges literary folklore or courting a new girlfriend, Elina (Sarah Francesca Brænne)—an immigration agent—Akam spends his time escorting his uncle around Oslo. But the more time uncle and nephew spend together, the less sense Khdr’s story seems to make. He’s been in Oslo longer than Akam was led to believe, for one; for another, he seems involved in some shady dealings. Like the audience, Akam is led to wonder if Khdr is even his uncle at all.
Some of My Uncle Jens‘ gentle humor follows from the contrast between generations. Khdr knows all too well what it is to be forced from a homeland, to live like a refugee, to have worked and scrapped without hope for a secure future. Like a lot of men of his generation, he values his origins, his history, his family and friends. Akam is a little too busy striking out on his own and finding independence to pay them all that much heed. He’s integrated well into the cosmopolitan fabric of modern Oslo but lost touch with his Iranian heritage. His time spent with Khdr and a friend of his from the old days (Emir Hakki) sheds more than a little light on the sacrifices that had to be made to earn Akam his life of relative, modest privilege.
Another source of My Uncle Jens‘ comedy—and insight—is linguistic. Khdr’s inability to speak Norwegian leads to more than a few mildly mildly mirthful misunderstandings and mistranslations. One scene in particular, when Akam is forced into the role of translator between Khdr and Elina when they meet, is a gem of timing and reaction as Akam intentionally mis-translates his uncle’s and girlfriend’s words. Yet beyond the gentle comedy of scenes like these is a reminder that language often equals power: to lack language, as Khdr does in Norway, and when he meets an immigration agent, raises suspicion. Khdr’s is a story of migration where any linguistic misstep might be cause for arrest or deportation.
Akam’s story, meanwhile, grounds the narrative as it reaches its resolution. His quiet life shaken by Khdr’s stay, he begins, finally, to learn from his uncle—and even from his students—new aspects of his self. The two leads—Azizpour, a Norwegian of Kurdish descent in his first feature role, as Akam, and Agoshi, untrained but undeniably charismatic as the older Khdr—play delightfully off each other. Vahabpour’s script seeks to highlight the trauma of diaspora, slowly revealing it in the tentative, halting conversations between the two men, and in the interplay between the two, My Uncle Jens makes for a delightful, insightful study of cross-generational, cross-cultural chasm.
