For many film lovers, it’s almost impossible to watch Norwegian cinema without seeing John Christian Rosenlund’s hand even if they don’t know it. Many of the films you’ve most likely loved, cried over, or been moved by carries his fingerprints.
In the basement of an all-boys school in Stavanger, a ten year old sat drawing. Outside, the other boys were playing football as expected in Norway’s Bible Belt during the 1970s. But John Christian Rosenlund didn’t fit in. He didn’t like football, struggled with reading and writing. At that time, the word dyslexia didn’t even exist- you were either smart or stupid, just like in Jens Bjørneboe’s Jonas.
“I was completely down. Almost suicidal,” he shares calmly with us. “Then my
little brother Petter Rosenlund (today a brilliant play-writer) introduced me to the theater world. Suddenly I was standing on stage at Rogaland Theatre, and someone saw something in me that had nothing to do with writing. I discovered that I could deliver something else, a presence.”
On stage, he found his first language. It wasn’t about words, but about light, rhythm, and breath. The experience of being seen became his way out of darkness and eventually, into the world of film.
“I think that experience gave me both vulnerability and strength,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be at the bottom. And I think that’s given me respect for people who are there. It’s something I carry with me in everything I do.”
Today, I cant say I have dyslectic problems anymore. I am writing a lot and there are tons of spellchecking options out there to help.
As a child, he began to draw. “Drawing became the opposite of writing, a new way of thinking.” Later, when he discovered sound and radio, he realized that images could exist beyond the page.
“We made pirate radio and radio plays. You could have ten thousand extras without it costing anything, you just said it on the radio. It was pictures in your head.” Eventually, he knocked on the door of TVP a small TV production company in Stavanger, and got a job cleaning floors. Soon he was working as a sound engineer, then as a camera operator. He was only fifteen. There was no film industry in Stavanger back then, but when the oil companies arrived, they needed industrial films and suddenly he had budgets and opportunities to experiment on 35mm film.
Later, Rosenlund went to Athens to work on commercials, his first encounter with the intense, international film world: Forty degrees, models, and a lot of noise:
«I saw how people could be treated like objects. Things have changed since then, but I learned how manipulative moving images can be.” Back in Norway, he moved to Oslo and joined Narcissus film and video, headed by Truels Zeiner Henriksen – and the emerging short film and music video scene of the 1980s. There he met, among others, Harald Zwart and Morten Tyldum who would later go on to direct in Hollywood. Rosenlund shot his first music video for deLillos in black and white on 16mm film, and it won Best Cinematography at the Short Film Festival in Trondheim.
From there, things moved quickly. He shot, directed and edited commercials, did sound design, and learned analog filmmaking from the ground up.
“I didn’t follow the traditional path of camera assistant and focus puller” he recalls. «I had no talent for being a focus puller, I just wanted to be a cinematographer. But it taught me how essential collaboration is. I know I’m better when I have good people around me.”‘
Since then, Rosenlund has become one of the most distinctive visual minds in Norwegian cinema. He has given light and texture to everything from Dragonfly and The Bothersome Man to The Wave, The Quake, 1001 Grams, The Ash Lad, and The Emigrants. His imagery has carried Norwegian films out into the world and shown the world what Norwegian film can be.
When I meet John Christian Rosenlund, we sit at a long wooden table in his Oslo apartment. The flat is high above the trees, whose leaves are turning autumn gold. The light from outside is soft and warm. Above the table hangs a long wooden lamp designed by Rosenlund himself. The light in the room is perfect. The atmosphere, effortless and elegant.
Stavanger, Film Culture and Inspiration
Since Rosenlund brings up Stavanger and the evolution of the Norwegian film industry, I ask what he thinks of the city’s new initiative to establish its own film festival.
“I haven’t followed it very closely,” he admits, “but Norway is a small country, and even in Oslo the film community is fragile. I had to move here myself in order to work with film. It’s the sense of community within the industry that creates the best films not geography.”
As a film journalist, I share his concern that much of the field revolves around networks rather than competence. Often, the same circles rotate between festivals and positions, with little space for new voices to grow. It’s hard to see how regional filmmaking can thrive when the same central figures move from place to place.
“The industry needs new nourishment and local voices,” Rosenlund says. “But to achieve that, you have to build lasting environments, not just move people around.”
Inspiration and Learning
When we talk about inspiration and the energy of filmmaking, I ask what shaped him most when he began developing his visual language. Was it a film, a person, or simply experience itself?
“I draw inspiration from everything, theatre, literature, music, dance, architecture. In Stavanger we had a film club, and we created our own little ‘film school’. I watched endlessly. Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner hit me hard the visuals were so overwhelming, so complete. Also Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas. And the French films Diva, Delicatessen, and The City of Lost Children they showed me that cinema could truly be Cinema with a capital C.”
Later, Rosenlund applied to the legendary National Film and Television School in England, but decided not to attend in the end.
“I made it to the final round. But when they asked why I wanted to study there, I realised I was already learning the most by working. They actually said, ‘Why spend four years here when you work with Cinematographer Odd Geir Sæther every day?’ That was confirmation enough. I chose to learn through experience and it’s worked for me.”
The Grammar of Film and Visual Diversity
John Christian Rosenlund’s films display a striking visual range from the sterile absurdity of The Bothersome Man, to the elemental force of The Wave, and the poetic precision of 1001 Grams. Each film carries its own language, its own rhythm, yet always with a gaze that seeks balance and human presence.
“Everything starts with the script and the director. My job is to get under the skin of both. Some directors are very visual; others not at all. With Bent Hamer, for instance, we seldom talk about images we talk about art, rhythm, balance – searching for the soul of the main character. 1001 Grams is about measurement and precision, so the film had to reflect that controlled, symmetrical, balanced. For me, it’s all about finding the film’s rules, its own grammar. Once you know which tools not to use, the film starts speaking.”
Craft, Technology and Collaboration
I ask how he chooses his projects.
“It’s actually quite simple. If the day ever comes when I no longer love making films, I couldn’t justify how much time and private life it takes. That’s why I only choose projects I genuinely want to do. It’s egoism, but a necessary one to keep the love for the craft alive.”
Why did he say yes to The Bothersome Man?
“I often get interested when a script makes me nervous. That film makes such an absurd claim that it could easily have fallen flat, which was exactly why I wanted to do it. Jens Lien is also a great guy, a fascinating director, and we had worked together before.”
The film has a distinctive light soft, almost frictionless. How did he approach it?
“We wanted to create the feeling of a ‘soft bubble’ without resistance. I lit almost the entire film with our own Softlights — early tube-based lamps we developed to avoid harsh shadows. There’s actually no sunlight in the film, except for the final shot when Trond Fausa, the main character, steals the piece of cake.”Those lamps was actually a brake trough for the industry. We were the first to introduce DMX controlled fluorescent lighting, and later a precursor in wireless control.
Why did you start developing his own tools, such as the company Softlights and later Flame?
“Not to invent something, but because I needed better tools for storytelling. Softlights gave soft light without huge rigs and large power conduction. For The Emigrants we developed Flame — LEDs with the full color spectrum of fire, that could be built into oil lamps and controlled remotely. It’s widely used in Europe now.”
And Remotion the pan-bar system for remote camera heads?
“Yes, together with Jørgen Mjelva in Norway, we built a system where you control the head one-to-one through a monitor instead of those American wheels. The Pan-Bar system later became a global standard. I never made money from it but it was fun to be first.”
Stars, Intensity and Genre
Since some of these technologies now carry Hollywood-level recognition even with lights named Juliet — I ask Rosenlund to reflect on working with international stars.
“The very best ones are usually the most generous and kind,” he says simply. “The difficult ones are often those in the middle – nervous, unsure.”
Let’s go back to Dragonfly (Øyenstikker). Why does that film remain so personal to you?
“Because we did everything straight through 18 or 19 days, entirely natural light, minimal crew. I was both cinematographer and makeup artist — with one jar of Vaseline to break beauty and get lived-in skin. After the final shot I walked into the forest and cried for a long time. With the talented director Marius Holst and three extremely powerful actors as Maria Bonnevie, Kim Bodnia and Mikael Persbrandt , The intensity, the performance was so high my body had to land. It was down to basic filmmaking with wonderful people. The film isn’t perfect, but the energy is genuine.” It was a great experience.
At the opposite end of the spectrum are The Wave and The Quake, large-scale effects films. What drew him toward genre filmmaking?
“I love creating visual grammar and precise universes genre allows exactly that. We did a lot physically, for real, including underwater.
«The two wonderful and extremely talented actors Ane Dahl Torp and Kristoffer Joner eventually became incredible at holding their breath, so I had to follow them with the camera. That kind of tension can’t be faked.”
International Perspectives and the Future
When asked how he experiences working internationally compared to Norway, Rosenlund reflects:
“The circus is the same everywhere, a mix of discipline and absurdity. The differences have more to do with people than countries: the crew you manage to gather. I’ve had fantastic teams in South Africa and the Czech Republic, and mixed ones in the U.S. In the end, it’s relationships that create the space for presence.”
So what lies ahead?
“Right now, I’ve just completed a Swedish feature film, The Rainman (Regnmannen), directed by Hannes Holm. I think he wanted to give comedy a deeper tone, more resistance, more language. At the same time, I’m in the early development of a new film with Danish director Per Fly. It’s a demanding and courageous project, and I can’t say much yet only that it touches themes many here will recognize.”
He’s also expanding his work in lighting design, this time for the home market.
“We’re beginning to transfer what we’ve learned from film lighting into interiors. I’m developing a lamp based on so-called human-centric lighting — a tunable spectrum from flame to daylight because we spend 90 percent of our time in artificial light.»
Our DNA is calibrate for sun light and flame. Our brain gets stressed when it continuously has to compensate for bad LED light. I hope to do something with that.
At the same time, he’s writing a screenplay, working as an executive producer and on a new project with Director Halkawt Mustafa.
“I enjoy helping new voices forward. It’s rewarding to contribute both behind and beyond the camera. Some of these projects will see the light of day in 2025–2026.”
Finally, I ask him to expand on a phrase he often uses “the grammar of film.”
“Every film needs its own set of rules what we don’t do, which tools we put aside. When I break a rule, I have to know why. That’s when the film develops its own language.”
Rosenlund’s upcoming feature project The Rainman is slated for a Christmas 2025 release in Sweden:
