Norwegian filmmaker Kristoffer Borgli dishes up a scathing critique of attention hounds and fame-seekers in the age of social media with his pitch-black comedy, Sick of Myself.

Driving the cringe entertainment is the absurd one-upmanship between domestic partners Signe (Kristine Kujath Thorp) and Thomas (Eirik Sæther), the former of whom will go to extreme lengths for any semblance of popularity — she literally gets off on sympathy — while the latter builds a bizarre career as an “artist,” an identity rooted in well-publicized theft of expensive items that mysteriously leave him celebrated for it rather than jailed.

Fed up with her second-fiddle existence, Signe puts her very health at risk for a shot at the spotlight, and the film’s bold commitment to the subsequent visual discomfort at her altered appearance and her “unknown” condition’s side effects provides a fascinating vessel by which Borgli poke holes in the empty pursuit of fame for fame’s sake.

Darkly funny as it is watching narcissists ramble on with zero self-awareness and making horrifying life decisions with little regard for the long-term, Borgli’s vision is rounded out by quick asides to future fantasies that Signe imagines for herself, providing an even deeper glimpse into her, well, shallowness.

Within this exaggerated environment, the writer/director draws committed, naturalistic performances from Thorp and Sæther, and surrounds them in an impressive technical pocket. Borgli’s consistently crisp shots and effective slow zooms, especially on the Oslo streets, keep Sick of Myself visually engaging, and thoughtful editing prevents this strange story from lagging and taking viewers out of its disturbing bubble, leaving us in there just long enough to revel in the self-destructive nature of celebrity’s pursuit without feeling too icky.

Grade: B-plus. Not rated, but with adult language and themes, nudity, and violence. Now playing at Grail Moviehouse.

(Photo: Utopia)