Inside the Trustor Scandal is far more subtle than most Netflix true crime documentaries. That’s partly because the crime is a big-money corporate swindle, and partly because the crooks are primarily old white buttoned-up Swedish men. That doesn’t make the story any less juicy, though, as director Karin af Klintberg interviews several of the primary perps in a high-profile 1997 scandal in which ringleader Joachim Posener schemed to buy a company with its own money (I went a little cross-eyed the first time I heard that phrase), then disappeared. And one of those perps is Posener himself, letting his face be seen publicly for the first time in 30 years.
The Gist: A man sits down with a manicurist. She asks him what he does for a living. “I used to work in finance,” he says. Eventually, he matter-of-factly reveals, “I’ve been on the run… in hiding, from Interpol.” Well then. This, of course, is the infamous Joachim Posener. The rumors about him were widespread, that he took off with $100 million, had plastic surgery, and was hiding “in all corners of the world.” Klintberg reveals via voiceover narration that she contacted Posener by email about the documentary, and he actually replied. We watch from a distance as they meet for the first time to discuss the project, with no audio. Klintberg narrates that they came to a deal: He agreed because the statute of limitations on his crimes had expired. She wouldn’t show Posener’s face, they’d only film him from behind, and she wouldn’t ask about his family. In return, he promises not to lie while telling his story – but this is a guy who splits the hair between “taking an unauthorized loan” and “stealing.” Perhaps we should chalk him up as an unreliable narrator?
But if you believe that tone, body language, and demeanor are credible indicators of truth-telling, Posener comes off as matter-of-fact as he was to his manicurist. I wish we could say the same for two of his partners in the Trustor scam, his cousin Thomas Jisander, a financial consultant, and Richard Djursen, the “vice president” of the company they formed. Jisander gives off Jordan Belfort Lite vibes; he’s a gloating showboat who likes to parade his Ferraris and Versace decor and pricey champagne in front of the cameras. Djursen is so far in the other direction of humility – eventually, he will cry in front of the camera – that it puts his trustworthiness into question. You’ll be grateful for Posener’s relative believability, and for the far more credible commentary of the journalist, cop, and private investigator who exposed his crimes, and are also interviewed here.
Posener shares how he spent a few years in prison for a bit of sleazy financial manipulation – and ironically, being behind bars gave him plenty of time to concoct a bigger, cleaner (but still dirty, mind you) scheme when he got out. He recruited Jisander and Djursen and a couple of other co-conspirators to find the perfect company that they could acquire with little to no money. They’d exploit loopholes and move things around and etc. etc., and some of this is above the layperson’s head, but Klintberg outlines it with just enough detail to render the story thorough but still digestible. It involved a British lord who’s the “black sheep” of the Guinness (as in the Irish beer) family, the actual Napoleon’s actual desk (that has since been lost), underworld loan sharks (notably, but not surprisingly, not participating in the doc), and an upsettingly slippery grip on the truth.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of? It’s safe to say Trustor wouldn’t exist without similar slyly-funny-but-serious docs by Errol Morris (Chaos: The Manson Murders, The Unknown Known, etc.), and is in line with a similar interview-the-high-profile-perp doc, Running with the Devil: The Wild Life of John McAfee.
Performance Worth Watching: As amusing as it is to watch Jisander coat everything in the vicinity with a thin veneer of slime, this accolade should go to Gunnar Lindstedt, the news reporter who initially smoked out Posener.
Sex And Skin: None.
Our Take: This is the kind of documentary that just slips in some hardcore-banger quotes and then moves on like it’s no big thing, e.g., “money doesn’t have to exist – it just has to look like it does,” “and then he lost his mind,” “and then we found Napoleon’s desk.” Other true crime dives would emphasize those bits and lean hard into them, but Klintberg treats them like throwaway jokes, thus making Inside the Trustor Scandal a smarter brand of true crime storytelling, subtly hilarious as it tells a morally appalling saga.
In some ways, the doc is similar to other summaries of high-profile 1990s malfeasance, with its talking heads, old TV news clips, shots of newspaper headlines and the inevitable trotting out of journalists and cops (but, refreshingly, no lawyers). But it’s distinct in Klintberg’s controlled, measured approach to the topic, and her ability to draw out “performances” from her interview subjects that are at first confounding but eventually quite revealing. She also quietly emphasizes how irony and happenstance play a major part in the narrative, adding to its rich truth-is-stranger-than-fiction subtext.
The film takes us on a twisty-turny journey that eventually hews closer to the truth of the scandal than anyone else has likely come, revealing the eccentric personalities of some of its players, who frequently contradict each other’s testimonies (likely without knowing that one statement will be edited consecutively with another that directly contradicts it). Posener insists he’s telling the whole truth, and we might believe him; he eventually reveals more about himself than we expect, violating his own terms for the doc. Jisander comes off as a loathsome slinger of bullshit who all but winks at us when he whips a whopper at the camera. And you’ll shake your head at Djursen, not sure if he’s laying himself emotionally bare or just a manipulative nutjob.
There are moments when Inside the Trustor Scandal feels profoundly revealing, and moments when obfuscation makes truth feel like an impossibility. Such is life.
Our Call: Documentaries that traffic in certainty are grossly overrated. STREAM IT.
John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog hugged him once.
