Of all the things Danes indisputably do better — hygge, dried fish, industrial design — superhero movies don’t tend to make the long list.
For reasons no one can adequately explain to him, an explosion has ripped through the Copenhagen train his wife Emma and teenage daughter Mathilde had just stepped into; only the girl survives.
And so he comes to see the stone-faced widower, assuming he too will want to know the truth and set it right; he’s wrong, at least initially — Markus would very much like everyone, including his devastated daughter, to stuff all their feelings in a small box and throw away the hide-a-key.
But for all his ability to stop a fist in mid-air and snap necks like bread sticks, Markus is woefully unschooled in the emotional needs of a heartbroken teenage girl, or in what it takes to peacefully interact with the chronically woke Gen-Z boyfriend who comes as her constant plus-one.
It’s those rich character moments — and the zinging current of chemistry that runs through the cast — that make Riders feel like such a gift: A kind of popcorn movie that doesn’t just let wit and storytelling serve as the garnish for big-bang action, but makes that its actual priority.