If an epic movie can be said to consist of grand vistas, a large cast, a semi-historical narrative, and multiple big themes, then the new Danish film “The Promised Land” starring Mads Mikkelsen certainly fits the bill. It covers a lot of territory, both subject-wise and literally, as its characters traverse Denmark’s windswept Jutland. 

A flat area of heaths and not much else, this region gives the movie a Western-type vibe, reinforced by its occasional burst of violence. Yet the film aims for more — to be a romance, an “issues” picture, a snapshot of agrarian struggle, a philosophical inquiry, and a Western, all in one.

Pleasingly, the film succeeds in nearly every aspect, not least of which is its ultimate aim: to entertain. Based on a real-life, 18th-century figure but highly fictionalized, “The Promised Land” applies humor, gorgeous cinematography, tense action sequences, and more to tell the story of Captain Ludvig Kahlen and his attempts to turn harsh scrubland into fertile farms, to colonize an area long held to be uninhabitable. 

On top of the unforgiving landscape and rocky soil, Ludvig faces other impediments in building a settlement: bureaucratic advisors to the king of Denmark at Copenhagen, roving bandits, an uncooperative local marshal, and a lack of workers. He does have some folks on his side, though, including a provincial priest who encourages him to help a young couple who are fleeing an abusive feudal master by employing them on his chosen tract of land.

This piece of land belongs to the king, yet it’s also apparently under the rule of a magistrate named Frederik De Schinkel. It is this personage who gives Ludvig the most trouble. When they first meet at a dinner at De Schinkel’s manor house, the arrogant aristocrat offends Ludvig by suggesting that his mother, a servant in her time, had relations with the lord for whom she worked. When our hero turns down his offer to assist in the establishment of the colony in exchange for most of the profits, it becomes clear that the obnoxious nobleman will do all he can to foil the captain’s plans.

It doesn’t take much to figure out that the couple, Johannes and Ann Barbara, have run away from none other than De Schinkel. When they are found out, the husband is tortured and subsequently killed. Excruciating to watch, this scene solidifies what the viewer suspected from his introduction: that De Schinkel is a sadist and attempts to justify his cruelty by calling it “chaos.”

Adding to Ludvig’s worries is a Romani orphan who continually steals from the homestead he’s built. Eventually, this little girl joins his household, for naturally our steely hero has a heart of gold, and along with the help of the now-widowed Ann Barbara, he is able to grow potatoes on the inhospitable land. This bounty brings forth settlers sent by order of the king, yet immediately they are suspicious of the dark-skinned girl whom they claim will bring bad luck to the colony. 

This scene is followed by one in which Ludvig and Ann Barbara directly discuss the racism of the new settlers with Anmai Mus, the little girl, and this feels more than a little anachronistic, despite its good intentions. 

The feminist bent of a few other scenes also points to the filmmakers’ attempt at “contemporary relevance.” Director Nikolaj Arcel clearly studied Hollywood directors like George Stevens and Stanley Kramer, and emulates their melding of sweeping stories with social causes. Thankfully, he learned well, because these attempts at equivalence with current events never take away from the film’s overall enjoyable nature. Most of the credit for this engagement must go to Mr. Mikkelsen, who is as elegantly steadfast and quietly intelligent as Ludvig as he is when he plays a villain. 

The rest of the cast, including Amanda Collin as Ann Barbara and Melina Hagberg as Anmai Mus, have multiple stirring moments, but some actors are given less to portray and therefore come off as plot drivers more than flesh-and-blood figures. If Mr. Arcel occasionally draws his characters too loosely and paints some scenarios a bit broadly, then cinematographer Rasmus Videbæk fills in the story with needed detail and texture. Both beautiful and mood-enhancing, a few of Mr. Videbæk’s knockout shots recall Caspar David Friedrich’s paintings in their combination of forbidding nature and spiritual awe.

For all of its big-production values and grand thematic ambitions, an epic movie must ultimately be about the inner journey of its lead character, and in this respect, “The Promised Land” delivers. The events throughout the film transform Ludvig, and in the end he is not the same man, with advancing age the least of the causes. 

Some viewers may question why Ludvig did not take a more lawful route at times, thereby avoiding much of the violence we witness. Yet there’s no denying one of the narrative’s morals: that blinkered belief in one’s vision can run parallel with the ruination of one’s soul. The film’s optimistic ending confirms, though, that it’s never too late to change course.