A Norwegian magazine article by Christopher Burgeli — which is now attracting attention on Reddit — raises new questions about the director as his Hollywood profile continues to rise.
Burghley, director of the upcoming film Drama Starring Zendaya and Robert Pattinson, it was the subject of a viral topic on the platform, with users sharing scans of a 2012 print article from D2the weekend magazine of Dagens Naringslev — Norway’s leading financial daily, similar to Wall Street Journal. D2 is a glossy culture and lifestyle supplement known for its long-form articles and profiles.
The piece, written by Burghley himself, then 27 years old, reflects a recent relationship he had with a teenage girl. The scans, which are not widely available online, have begun to spread and have been translated by users.
The renewed interest comes as Burghley transitions from independent filmmaker to more mainstream presence. Burghley Drama —His latest project in English, after 2023 Dream scenario Starring Nicolas Cage – Featuring two of Hollywood’s biggest stars, Zendaya and Pattinson, further raising its profile internationally.
Drama The film follows a couple about to get married, and their relationship takes an increasingly unsettling turn, mixing intimacy with anxiety. It’s in keeping with Burghley’s brand of dark comedy, which leans into the discomfort, the taboo, and the provocative — a sensibility that matches A24’s taste for bold, conversation-driven, filmmaker-driven action.
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While the legal age of consent in Norway is 16, relationships between adults and adolescents remain socially controversial in the country, a tension that Burgeley addresses in the article.
Hollywood Reporter A24 and the Burghley team have been contacted for comment.
Below is the full translated text of the article, as shared and translated from the Norwegian original:
Wikipedia lists 266 films dealing with so-called May-December romances.
The term “May-December” is explained here as when the age difference between two people in a relationship is so large that it puts you at risk of social rejection. The reason I know this is because I met a girl ten years younger than me that I loved so much—a girl who wasn’t old enough to vote—and I had to find something that would reset my moral compass. The few friends I trusted about my situation told me it wasn’t “within limits.” This confirms that it was specifically a love story that took place between the months of May and December.
I woke up in the small, cramped apartment I had been temporarily renting after my ex-husband had moved out—or kicked me out—half a year earlier. Next to me lay a blonde girl, a high school student enjoying various vacations in May. I chose to see her this way, to define her by her age, and I chose to never see her again. But you can’t choose what the heart wants. A Facebook post, a text message, and small digital exchanges in the days that followed.
In my previous relationship, the age difference was in the opposite direction; She has lived seven summers longer than me. Age then proved to be more of a problem than an attraction. Emotional dilemmas like these drive me to seek out movies and books with similar, related themes (and suddenly all the songs are about me). Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson portray a May-December romance, at the ages of 53 and 18 respectively, in Lost in Translation. In Ghost World, the age difference between Steve Buscemi and Thora Birch is huge, but it was revisiting Woody Allen’s Manhattan that completely changed my attitude. The relationship there is presented as quite open and romantic. If the 1979 film, in which Woody Allen’s 42-year-old character has a public relationship with a 17-year-old girl, was portrayed in an exclusively positive light and caused no controversy at the time, then why wouldn’t my relationship – with a much smaller age difference – in 2012 be “within limits”? I choose to listen to Woody over my friends.
I was fascinated by her life. Unlike me, she was born and raised in Oslo, in Gronerloka, and must have had an early and clear exposure to literature, music and cinema. When I was 16, I played PlayStation, drank homemade liquor at house parties, and made splatter movies in the backyard. She played the piano, drank cava at exhibition openings, and wrote texts that were published by the press. I think my cultural vision (and therefore, because I am what I am, my life vision) was delayed by ten years as a result of growing up in the countryside opposite Oslo. In many ways, we were strangely equal. She never laughed at my Seinfeld references — of course, because she’d never watched a single episode — but in return she could recommend books to me, like Self-Portrait by Edward Levy.
I could watch her reading the new books she brought into my apartment. Her curiosity was admirable and contagious. I have developed a greater appetite for everything. Suddenly, we were together all the time: long days in my apartment, eating eggs and bacon for breakfast with Woody Allen movies (she was also a fan), long walks with her parents’ dog, late midweek evenings at restaurants and bars (where they didn’t check IDs). When her parents were away, we began spending entire days in their large apartment; We drank her parents’ wine and read her parents’ books. Some days we didn’t go out because it was dark (and only then did we get dressed); Sometimes we can sit at the big kitchen table from breakfast until dinner and not move, just talking and laughing. She played completely unfamiliar music, which I often liked on first listen, and my favorite films became her favorite films. She told me what clothes I should and shouldn’t wear (round neck, not v-neck). We shared a fascination with Fleetwood Mac, and both had a childhood attachment to Peanuts. That summer, I didn’t travel — for the first time I can remember — but the time we spent together that summer at her parents’ apartment was nonetheless the best and strangest summer I’d ever had. Her parents came home unexpectedly early from vacation, and she had to get out of the window (first floor). Summer is over, and week-long weekends have become regular days. It was May. I was December.
