Sick of Myself (2022)
Director: Kristoffer Borgli
Screenwriter: Kristoffer Borgli
Starring: Kristine Kujath Thorp, Eirik Sæther, Elisabeth Bech Aschehoug, Sarah Francesca Brænne, Anders Danielsen Lie, Fredrik Stenberg Ditlev-Simonsen, Guri Hagen Glans, Steinar Klouman Hallert, Andrea Bræin Hovig, Matilda Höög
Kristoffer Borgli’s Sick of Myself is a sharp, unnerving satire that explores extreme narcissism, the hunger for visibility, and the modern culture of victimhood. On the surface it follows Signe (Kristine Kujath Thorp), a young woman whose desperate need for approval escalates into self-inflicted harm as she vies for attention in a world that prizes being seen above all. Borgli, who wrote and directed the film, has described his characters as broadly privileged people who lack authentic struggles or purpose; their lives become exercises in seeking recognition, status and validation.
The film centers on Signe’s toxic relationship with her boyfriend Thomas (Eirik Sæther), an arrogant, self-assured artist who steadily eclipses her. Where Joachim Trier’s The Worst Person in the World explored self-discovery and nuance, Borgli’s film intentionally pushes its protagonist into grotesque extremes, creating a deliberate caricature of a person consumed by envy and performative suffering. Signe is not simply insecure—she actively sabotages Thomas’s achievements by diminishing his successes to others and by manufacturing narratives that reposition herself at the center of sympathy and attention.
Signe’s envy becomes the engine of the plot when Thomas attains modest recognition for an installation. Rather than engaging with her own ambitions, Signe escalates her campaign for relevance: she publicly belittles Thomas’s show, seeks to expose him as less accomplished, and then takes a far darker route. In a bid to reclaim the spotlight she begins using Lidexol, a dangerous medication known to cause severe skin reactions, intentionally inflicting visible harm in order to attract compassion and notoriety.
Waking up bandaged in a hospital bed, Signe basks in the attention she has engineered. Borgli’s film interrogates how contemporary culture can romanticize suffering and reward those who display it publicly. Signe’s choices are never examined through a lens of self-awareness; she remains unapologetic and fully committed to performing pain as a strategy for relevance. The result is an uncomfortable mix of dark comedy and social critique that often leaves the viewer laughing and cringing in equal measure.
Kristine Kujath Thorp delivers a riveting, committed performance that carries the film’s uneasy tonal balance. Her portrayal captures Signe’s transformation from petty jealousy to self-destructive obsession, moving from brittle humor into something far more disturbing. As Signe’s condition worsens, the humor drains away and the reality of her delusions becomes bleak and unsettling. The prosthetic and makeup work—designed by Izzi Galindo—renders Thorp nearly unrecognizable in later sequences, pushing the film into territory usually associated with body-horror while maintaining its satirical edge.
Borgli has spoken about wanting to make something both funny and serious, and the film’s sharp comedic timing is matched by a relentless moral focus: Signe ultimately engineers her own downfall. The film serves as a pointed caricature of contemporary millennial values, criticizing a culture that confuses attention with meaning and that elevates performative victimhood as a path to status.
Beyond its central performance and provocative premise, Sick of Myself prompts broader questions about social media culture, celebrity, and empathy. Who gets rewarded with attention and why? How does public sympathy become a currency? Borgli’s film doesn’t offer easy answers, but it holds a mirror up to the extremes of a culture that encourages spectacle over sincerity.
The film’s tone is intentionally abrasive: it draws laughs from outrage and discomfort before slipping into genuine tragedy. By the time the credits roll, the viewer is left to consider whether Signe was ever truly a victim or merely an architect of her own image-driven collapse. The satire lands precisely because it exaggerates realistic traits—envy, insecurity, and the performative amplification of suffering—until those traits become grotesque and unmistakable.
Score: 18/24
Written by Jake Gill
You can support Jake Gill in the following place:
Twitter – @Jake95Gill