Jonatan Etzler’s Bad Apples takes place somewhere in the United Kingdom, most likely a studio somewhere near Bristol, though it may as well be mistaken for a Scandinavian black comedy. Etzler, a Swede, deploys the genre’s well-worn vocabulary. There’s stark minimalism, a static, watchful camera, and clinical detachment toward its characters. But the effect is somewhat forgettable in execution. Where a master like Roy Andersson uses austerity to crack open the abyss of human absurdity, Etzler’s touch in Bad Apples is less adept. Despite being well-made, playful, and nasty, Bad Apples ultimately does not pack much of a punch.
Maria (Saoirse Ronan), a disillusioned primary school teacher, kidnaps and holds one of her students hostage. That “bad apple” is Danny (Eddie Waller), an 11-year-old with a mullet and the hollow-eyed stare of a delinquent-in-training. He looks ready for a Skins casting call, even if it’s a few years too early. He clocks Maria’s incompetency from the get-go, and during a school field trip to an apple orchard, his tossed shoe brings an entire sorting system to a shuddering halt. Cinematographer Nea Asphäll captures Maria in the aftermath: she’s so small, engulfed by the vast machinery of the orchard, and framed in a way that emphasizes her slight stature and vulnerability. She is clearly not a threat to anyone, unlike Danny.
Casting Ronan is a clever inversion. She’s often the face of resilient self-possession on screen, whether in Brooklyn or Little Women, but she achieves the opposite in Bad Apples, playing against type and further demonstrating her versatility as an actor. Rather than standing up for herself, Maria becomes the definition of a wet noodle. She has no social life, and her vices aren’t even cool — mainly, she plays farm video games until her eyes glaze over while she’s staring at the screen. Everyone bullies Maria, too, and her authority evaporates the moment she enters the classroom. But because Bad Apples is so stylized, Maria never feels tethered to the real world. Her exhaustion, lack of recognition, and desire for a better “work-life balance” read more like jokes than genuine struggles or personal failings. And even her students know she’s a people-pleaser, publicly admonishing her with statements like, “Miss, my mom thinks you’re incompetent,” because they know she won’t reprimand them. This passivity eventually curdles into exasperation, and it becomes hard to care for her, let alone root for her.
Because Maria is so frustrating, allegiance shifts toward Danny. Scandinavian black comedies tend to subvert the usual markers of identification we expect in conventional narratives, so Danny, the little Devil himself, eventually evokes bleak sympathy. Danny is revealed to be illiterate, and the irony cuts deep: Maria, perhaps the worst teacher in the world, never even noticed. Only once Danny has been kidnapped and is being held in captivity does she finally attempt to teach him how to read. Penned up like an animal with a harness, Danny’s situation reads like a cruel joke until the light leaves his eyes. Eventually, Maria and Danny start playing video games together in the makeshift dungeon she’s created for him, replete with a portable toilet and bunk bed. It’s sweet, until it’s sickening. Danny has simply lost his bite, or perhaps he’s succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome.
The outside world brightens while Danny is locked up, and Maria’s life seems to improve. The film’s use of fluorescent lighting underscores the artifice of her newly minted contentment, and when she finally gains some control over her day-to-day life, Maria drifts into a fragile ease that nonetheless feels temporary. The classroom runs a little smoother, her small victories feel meaningful, and the absurdity of her existence becomes almost bearable, but she hasn’t truly changed. A new troublemaker emerges, Pauline (Nia Brown), one of Danny’s early victims. Unlike Danny, she’s not overtly hostile, and yet, she’s worse — she’s annoying. With braces, red hair, and tone-deaf singing, she tests Maria’s patience in ways that feel almost petty, yet she’s treated as a legitimate threat once Danny fizzles away. Pauline recalls Tracy Flick in Election: she’s sharp, offputting, and unlikely to make friends; she’s not benign exactly, but she also doesn’t break anybody’s bones like Danny. This development reveals how the film is undermined by a sexist dichotomy that casts women as either meek, like Maria, or manipulative, like Pauline.
Unfortunately, strong performances from Ronan, Waller, and Brown can’t save Bad Apples. The film contains a healthy dose of pleasant nastiness, but it’s rendered forgettable by the end. The dark humor and petty cruelty are superficially entertaining, but without any substantive commentary to give any of this acerbicness real weight, Bad Apples loses its bite. As a result, the film drifts along as an amusing but ultimately shallow exercise, offering shock and discomfort without insight, leaving little to linger after the credits roll.
Published as part of TIFF 2025 — Dispatch 5.
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