“Blood and Faith: The Murder of Athelstan” is Netflix’s bold dive into the mythic darkness of Viking spirituality, betrayal, and redemption. The film unfolds with an intensity that pulls viewers into the tortured mind of Floki, the shipbuilder of the gods, a man torn between devotion and madness. From its very first frame, it captures the elemental essence of the Norse world — the sea, the storms, and the silent gaze of gods who seem both present and distant.
Gustaf Skarsgård returns as Floki in what is arguably the most haunting performance of his career. His portrayal is raw, unpredictable, and deeply human. The story explores his descent into fanaticism following the murder of Athelstan, a Christian monk whose friendship with Ragnar Lothbrok tested the limits of loyalty and faith. Netflix’s adaptation gives this moment — one of the most pivotal in Viking lore — an entirely new depth, blending historical grit with psychological tension.
Every frame of Blood and Faith feels carved from stone and shadow. The cinematography draws on the raw power of the North — endless seas, mist-covered mountains, and the fierce glow of firelight on faces marked by fate. The film refuses to glamorize its world; instead, it drags viewers into the heart of its conflict — the war between old gods and new, between love and duty, between blood and belief.
Travis Fimmel’s brief but magnetic appearance as Ragnar reminds the audience of the bond that once defined both men. Their shared dream of exploration, and their shared loss of innocence, echo through the film like a ghost. Katheryn Winnick’s presence as Lagertha adds emotional gravity, grounding the film’s chaos with quiet strength and a deep sense of loss. Together, they embody a generation caught between two worlds — one fading, one rising.
What makes Blood and Faith so compelling is its refusal to present Floki as merely a villain or a prophet. He is both. He is neither. His laughter — half joy, half pain — becomes a hymn to the gods he loves and the humanity he cannot escape. The film doesn’t seek to explain him; it allows him to remain a mystery, a vessel of divine madness.
The sound design amplifies this duality. The clash of metal, the whisper of waves, and the distant thunder of drums merge into a haunting score that feels like a prayer and a curse at once. Every sound resonates with tension — every silence with meaning. It’s a sensory experience that draws you deeper into the storm of Floki’s mind.
Director Jalmari Helander brings a mythic touch to the storytelling, mixing raw realism with surreal visions. Floki’s encounters with the gods — seen through visions of water, fire, and shadow — blur the line between faith and hallucination. The film’s pacing mirrors his inner turmoil: slow and meditative at times, furious and violent at others.
At its core, the film questions what happens when faith turns to obsession. When devotion becomes destruction. When love for the divine blinds one to the human cost of belief. Blood and Faith doesn’t provide easy answers; it revels in ambiguity. It’s not a film about right and wrong — it’s a film about the terrible beauty of conviction.
Visually, the film is breathtaking. Each frame feels like a painting steeped in melancholy and power. The bleak skies over Iceland, the flicker of torches in damp caves, and the reflection of flames in Floki’s eyes — they all weave together to tell a story of a man trying to reach the gods, and finding only himself.
Date: November 9, 2025
By the time the credits roll, Blood and Faith leaves a lasting mark. It’s not just a historical drama — it’s a meditation on belief and the cost of loyalty. It’s about a man who gave everything for his gods and lost himself in the process. The murder of Athelstan becomes not just an act of violence, but a tragic offering, a moment that defines an entire generation of lost souls.
Gustaf Skarsgård’s performance is a masterclass in emotional control and chaos. His eyes, painted black like a priest of madness, carry the sorrow of a world fading into memory. He becomes the embodiment of the dying age of Norse gods — the last pagan, the last believer, the last man laughing into the void.
In the end, Blood and Faith is both brutal and beautiful. It’s a story of devotion so pure it burns everything around it. Netflix has crafted a film that doesn’t just revisit Viking mythology — it resurrects its spirit. Through blood, through faith, through fire, Floki sails again — into legend, into darkness, into eternity.
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