Forget bedtime stories. Forget the saccharine sugarcoating of fairy tales. Adorable Humans is Hans Christian Andersen after a month-long bender in a Copenhagen back alley, the ice of the north gnawing at his bones, the human condition revealed as cruel, horny, and violent. This is Denmark in its purest, most savage cinematic form — bleak, stylish, unnerving, and absolutely relentless.

Segment 1 – The Dead Man
We start in the graveyard of human decency. A corpse becomes the mirror to a living world rotten with selfishness, desire, and unspoken cruelties. The Dead Man doesn’t just speak to mortality; it shouts, spits, and bites at the audience. You feel the chill of decomposition on your skin as if the film itself exhumed something buried deep within your own psyche. It’s grotesque, funny, and tragic all at once — the kind of nightmare that curls around your ribs and refuses to let go.

Segment 2 – The Story of a Mother
Ah, grief incarnate. The Story of a Mother drags you through the sludge of loss and obsession, and if you’ve ever felt a parental instinct twist into something toxic, you’ll know the sensation in your gut: sharp, jagged, relentless. Here, Michael Kunov exposes the fragility of care, turning love into a vice, and mourning into a weapon. The camera lingers just long enough to make your soul ache and then jolts you with a cruel snap of reality — motherhood, possession, mortality, all tangled in a way that leaves you twitching long after the credits roll.

Segment 3 – The Snow Queen
Cold, ruthless, and merciless. The Snow Queen is Denmark’s answer to isolation, cruelty, and obsession, wrapped in a winter storm that gnashes its teeth. Kasper Juhl’s segment is a frozen fever dream where desire and danger swirl like snowflakes, blurring the line between predator and prey, hero and victim. It’s a segment that literally chills your bones and reminds you that even beauty can be a weapon, even ice can burn, and the darkness outside is nothing compared to what lurks in the human heart.

Segment 4 – Aunty Toothache
If you thought the previous three segments were cruel, Michael Panduro shatters that illusion with Aunty Toothache. Here, domesticity turns monstrous, and familial bonds twist into chains of terror. The segment is absurd, grotesque, and horrifyingly human — a macabre carnival of psychological, physical, and sexual transgression. It’s the Danish version of biting the hand that feeds you, then discovering that the hand has teeth, claws, and a very bad attitude. You laugh, you recoil, and you realize the joke is on all of us.

The Prognosis:

Collectively, Adorable Humans doesn’t just tell stories; it gnaws at your sanity. It’s an anthology of darkness, human frailty, and twisted morality, each segment a scalpel dissecting the uncomfortable truths of life, love, and the innate horror of being human. This isn’t polite horror. It’s not even Scandinavian noir in a friendly way. It’s pure, cold, dazzlingly executed dread. Beautifully shot, meticulously scored, and deeply, disturbingly Danish.

By the end, you’re left trembling, laughing nervously, and questioning the adjective “adorable” — because nothing about these humans is cute. They’re vicious, flawed, intoxicating, and unforgettable.

• Saul Muerte

Adorable Humans will be screening as part of the Dark Nights Film Festival on Sunday 12th Oct at 5.15pm at The Ritz.