The Lives of My Father (2026)

Screening as part of Doc Edge 2026

Didrik thought his Norwegian father was a journalist. In reality, he was a CIA spy who fired AK-47s in the Kuwaiti desert and infiltrated cocaine laboratories in Colombia. When Didrik finds a box of old tapes and documents in his father’s attic, he uncovers a story almost too strange to be true. For the first time his father, Bjørn, begins to speak openly about his past. As Didrik digs deeper, the life and lies of a man who blurred the lines between journalism, propaganda, and international espionage begins to emerge. But can any of it be trusted?

The Lives of My Father begins with a discovery that feels almost mundane. A dusty box in an attic. Old tapes. Documents that look like the leftovers of a career in journalism. But for director Didrik Hallstrøm, opening that box becomes the first step into a labyrinth of contradictions, half‑truths, and stories so outrageous they sound like the plot of a Cold War thriller. The film follows his attempt to understand who his father, Bjørn Hallstrøm, really was. A respected Norwegian TV journalist. A compulsive storyteller. Or, as he once told his ten‑year‑old son, a secret CIA operative.

The documentary unfolds like a detective story told in reverse. Instead of chasing a criminal, Didrik is chasing the truth about a man he thought he knew. The film moves between family archives, interviews with relatives and former colleagues, and Bjørn’s own recollections, which are delivered with the confidence of someone who has spent a lifetime performing for cameras. The result is a narrative that constantly shifts shape. Every answer opens a new question. Every revelation casts doubt on the last.

The claims themselves are astonishing. Bjørn says he infiltrated cocaine labs in Colombia. He says he fired AK‑47s in the Kuwaiti desert. He says he spent time with militias in Afghanistan and reported from the front lines in Bosnia. The footage he provides is extensive, sometimes disturbingly so. He has an explanation for everything, delivered with a calmness that makes it difficult to tell whether he is recounting memories or constructing them.

This ambiguity becomes the film’s central tension. Didrik wants to believe his father. You can see it in the way he listens, leaning forward like a child hearing a bedtime story. At first, the idea that his father might have lived a double life is thrilling. There is a spark in his eyes, a sense of wonder. The glamour of espionage has a pull, especially when the person at the centre of it is your own parent. But as the investigation deepens, the shine begins to fade. The stories become darker. The moral lines blur. The cost of such a life becomes impossible to ignore. And the image of his father begins to shatter.

The documentary captures this shift with remarkable sensitivity. It is not just about whether Bjørn was telling the truth. It is about what those stories meant for the people around him. The film slowly reveals the emotional toll of his absences, the strain on the family, and the way secrecy can hollow out relationships. Bjørn’s life, whether real or embellished, was built on compartmentalisation. The film shows how that structure eventually collapses inward, leaving those closest to him to pick up the pieces.

What makes the film so compelling is the contrast between father and son. Didrik is grounded, gentle, and introspective. Bjørn is charismatic, evasive, and larger than life. Watching them interact feels like watching two different worlds collide. Didrik approaches the investigation with sincerity, while Bjørn seems to treat it as another performance. The dynamic is fascinating, and at times heartbreaking. You can see Didrik wrestling with the desire to understand his father while also confronting the possibility that the truth may never be fully knowable, or perhaps he is better off not knowing.

The filmmakers lean into this uncertainty. The documentary does not try to prove or disprove Bjørn’s claims. Instead, it presents the evidence, the contradictions, and the emotional fallout, allowing the audience to sit in the discomfort of ambiguity. This approach gives the film a haunting quality. You are never sure whether you are watching a confession, a fabrication, or something in between. The line between journalism, propaganda, and espionage becomes increasingly blurred, mirroring the blurred boundaries of Bjørn’s own identity.

The pacing is sharp, and the revelations are delivered with a rhythm that keeps you hooked. Just when you think you have a handle on the story, a new piece of footage appears. A new witness speaks. A new contradiction emerges. The film is structured like a long‑form investigation, but it never loses sight of the emotional core. The spy stories are thrilling, but the family conversations are what stay with you.

One of the most striking elements is the sheer scale of Bjørn’s reach. The footage shows him in places and situations that seem impossible for a journalist to access without deeper connections. The people he meets, the conflicts he documents, the proximity to danger, all suggest a life lived far beyond the boundaries of traditional reporting. Yet the more Didrik uncovers, the more he realises that the truth is not simply a matter of verifying events. It is about understanding why his father lived the way he did.

As the film progresses, the glamour of espionage dissolves. The idea of being a spy loses its appeal. The danger becomes real. The moral compromises become visible. And Didrik begins to see the cost of the life his father claimed to have lived. The documentary captures this transformation with a quiet sadness. The father who once seemed heroic becomes complicated, flawed, and deeply human.

The emotional climax comes not from a revelation about Bjørn’s past, but from the evolving relationship between father and son. Didrik begins the film eager to believe, almost childlike in his excitement. But as he confronts the darker implications of his father’s stories, he grows into a more critical, more grounded version of himself. He starts asking the questions he avoided at the beginning. He challenges his father. He pushes back. And in doing so, he uncovers not just the truth about Bjørn, but the truth about himself.

The documentary ends on a note that is neither triumphant nor tragic. It is reflective. It acknowledges that some mysteries cannot be solved, especially when they involve people who have spent their lives hiding behind stories. But it also suggests that understanding does not always require certainty. Sometimes, the act of searching is enough.

The Lives of My Father is a gripping, emotionally layered exploration of identity, memory, and the stories we tell to survive. It is thrilling, confounding, and deeply human. It is a film that asks you to question everything, yet still manages to find tenderness in the spaces between truth and myth.

Screening as part of Doc Edge 2026. Check out the films and screenings here

Review written by Alex Moulton