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(Fright Fest Review) ABOVE THE KNEE Stands on Uneasy Ground

By. Professor Horror

                                                                                         

 

Body Integrity Dysmorphia (sometimes called Body Integrity Identity Disorder (BIID)) is one of those conditions that feels almost too strange to be real until you hear it described in clinical terms. At its core, the disorder involves a person’s self-image not aligning with their physical body. Our brains carry maps of our bodies, and for some, a piece of that map is missing. It could be as small as a finger, or as dramatic as a leg. With ABOVE THE KNEE (which premiered at FrightFest 2025) Viljar Bøe explores this unsettling territory through the perspective of the film’s protagonist, using the story to probe what happens when the mind and body fall irreparably out of sync. The film unpacks the psychological torment of living in a body that feels alien, turning a rare and often misunderstood condition into a lens for examining identity, obsession, and the fragile boundaries between self-perception and reality.

Amir (Freddy Singh) lives with this disorder but struggles to speak openly about it. Most likely born with the impairment, his brain developed differently, leaving him at odds with his own body. Many people experience some form of physical or mental impairment, but when it begins to disrupt daily life, it crosses into the realm of disability. For Amir, the paradox is striking: he does not see the absence of his leg as disabling, but the presence of it makes ordinary living nearly impossible. Clinically, most individuals with this condition seek treatment through therapy or medication to manage the intrusive thoughts, yet some resort to self-harm in pursuit of relief through amputation. Bøe’s film captures this clinical reality but renders it through a cinematic lens, where obsession becomes atmosphere and private torment becomes narrative drive. It’s a subject that raises layered ethical and cultural questions, and ABOVE THE KNEE deserves recognition for tackling a disability rarely addressed in either medical discourse or popular culture.

                                                      

Norwegian director Bøe has been carving out a distinctive niche in horror, one not rooted in supernatural tropes but in the darker corners of the human psyche. His breakout feature Good Boy (2022) explored the uncanny through a man who lives with a partner who dresses and behaves as his pet dog. That film provoked endless conversations about trust, dependency, and the power dynamics within relationships. With ABOVE THE KNEE, Bøe once again looks at the dangers of the mind. However, this film doesn’t hit as hard as Good Boy. Where the earlier film balanced absurdity with gut-punch horror, ABOVE THE KNEE sometimes stalls in its clinical approach. Still, the throughline between both works is clear: Bøe is fascinated with individuals whose deepest compulsions put them at odds with the people they love and with the world around them. His films use horror to explore what happens when a person’s inner reality refuses to reconcile with their external one.

                               

The plot unfolds with a restrained, almost suffocating sense of secrecy. Amir lives with his caring girlfriend Kim (Julie Abrahamsen), who believes their life together is stable. But when she isn’t around, Amir retreats to a hidden basement room. There he surrounds himself with sketches and paintings of himself without a leg as well as images of sutured kneecaps, wheelchairs, and self-portraits of a body that feels more authentic to him than the one he currently inhabits. These moments aren’t treated as cheap shock but as a confession of his private torment. The very existence of his leg gnaws at him, occupying his thoughts every minute of the day and distracting him from Kim, his friends, and any sense of fulfillment. To quiet his intrusive fantasies, Amir begins planning an “accident.” The film then shifts into a countdown structure, reminding viewers that the point of no return is approaching. Bøe punctuates Amir’s obsessive state with recurring cutaways: bloody rocks, saw blades, flashes of gore. They serve as both foreshadowing and a visual representation of Amir’s fractured consciousness. The technique is effective at first, though repetition diminishes its impact over the runtime.

                                                

Singh, who also co-wrote the story, carries the film as Amir. His deliberately restrained performance conveys the inward spiral of BIID, capturing how isolating the condition can be. The quietness in his portrayal makes the sudden eruptions of rage or anguish feel all the more jarring and authentic. Singh embodies Amir’s contradictions: a man painfully aware that his obsession makes him difficult to live with, yet powerless to escape it. Opposite him, Julie Abrahamsen as Kim provides the film’s emotional grounding. She balances tenderness with simmering frustration, embodying a partner who senses she is competing with an unseen force but cannot name it. Their dynamic sharpens the film’s tension, showing how hidden compulsions corrode intimacy. Adding another layer, Louise Waage Anda plays Rikke, a woman with BIID who longs for blindness. She complicates the story by becoming both confidante and destabilizer, offering Amir a rare sense of solidarity while simultaneously deepening his obsession. Through Rikke, the film highlights how shared compulsions can create community but also intensify destructive desires, raising unsettling questions about support, complicity, and the boundaries of empathy.

                       

The true value of ABOVE THE KNEE lies in how it raises thorny questions without easy answers. Is voluntary amputation an expression of autonomy, or is it self-destruction society should prevent? How do we define disability…by the impairment itself, or by the way it interferes with daily life? And most provocatively, does seeking amputation in BIID echo other forms of body modification, such as cosmetic alteration, or does it exist in its own category? Bøe doesn’t offer clear answers, and at times, his refusal to go deeper into the ethical terrain feels like a missed opportunity. Instead, he lingers in Amir’s headspace, leaving the audience to wrestle with the implications. ABOVE THE KNEE is an uneven but undeniably fascinating film. As a psychological horror, it thrives on tension, claustrophobic settings, and disturbing imagery. As a character study, it sometimes falters, with stretches that feel repetitive or detached. Yet even when it drags, the subject matter keeps it compelling. Though it may not be as impactful as Good Boy, Viljar Bøe deserves credit for spotlighting a condition almost never depicted on screen. ABOVE THE KNEE doesn’t always succeed, but it leaves behind questions that will hopefully have people talking more about disability. Specifically, questions about the body, the brain, and what happens when they refuse to agree.