Testosterone and spittle are on abundant display in “The Northman,” the latest from director Robert Eggers, as are blood and viscera and a daunting array of rippling abs. Beheadings? The film has plenty of them too, as well as lava, though there’s less of that. 

“The Northman” is a hyperbolic exercise in viking lore, and one wonders whether it will live up to box office expectations.

The film has, in the weeks up to its release, garnered significant media buzz — posters for the movie can be seen all over New York City — and its director has been written about in some pretty classy venues. It’s not every genre specialist who is fêted by the New Yorker. Clearly, the tastemakers felt there was something special afoot. 

Mr. Eggers’s previous efforts, “The Witch” (2015) and “The Lighthouse” (2019), established him as a filmmaker who elides easy categorization. Both efforts were dubbed, with precious little satisfaction by those doing the honors, as horror films. “The Northman” is similarly eclectic, though its scale and scope are radically amplified. What we end up with is a conundrum — an art house blockbuster, a razzle-dazzle mash-up of “The Virgin Spring” and “Conan the Barbarian.” 

The plot is as simple as death and as elemental as myth. The year is 895; the setting, the backwoods of Iceland. King Aurvandil (Ethan Hawke) returns to his kingdom, having been wounded in battle. He is welcomed by Queen Gudrún (a flinty Nicole Kidman), his young son Amleth (a winsome Oscar Novak), and his half-brother Fjölnir (a craggy Claes Bang). The homecoming turns to bloodshed after father and son emerge from a rather outre coming-of-age ritual conducted by Heimir the Fool (Willem Dafoe).

Amleth escapes, and years pass. He grows up to become a brooding mountain of muscle (Alexander Skarsgård) given to epigrammatic statements. He has one goal and one goal only: revenge for his father’s death. The target is Uncle Fjölnir — who, having slaughtered his half-brother, married his sister-in-law. If all this rings a bell, be aware that the Danish legend on which “The Northman” is based also served as inspiration for “Hamlet.” Mr. Eggers is keeping good company.

Among the characters Amleth meets in his travels are the waif-like Olga (Anya Taylor-Joy channeling Emilia Clarke from “Game of Thrones”) and a Scandinavian Seeress, a blind prophet with a taste for flamboyant headwear. The latter is played by the pop-star Björk and it is, for those familiar with her music and public persona, an entirely fitting bit of casting. Björk isn’t on-screen for more than a minute or two, but she fairly steals the movie. Sometimes flagrant eccentricity is preferable to operatic Sturm und Drang.

Mr. Eggers is nothing if not born to the cinema. Was “The Northman” originally meant to be in 3-D? The camera bobs and weaves in and around architecture, through masses of figures, and in between densely wrought thickets. Working with cinematographer Jarin Blaschke, Mr. Eggers shifts the overall color palette throughout the movie, ranging from lush fields of gold to a jewel-like use of black-and-white. These transitions in texture and tone are as dramatic as they are subtle.

Mostly “The Northman” is portentous, and cheesy. Really cheesy. When the film traverses into mystical realms — focusing on a recurring tree of life, say, or Ms. Taylor-Joy riding a white horse through boundless CGI-skies — Mr. Eggers’s vision devolves from Bergmanesque gravitas to the macho fantasies of pulp illustrator Frank Frazetta. However meticulously researched its mise en scene, “The Northman” falls victim to an unappealing strain of adolescent nihilism. Toxic masculinity, it’s called; sometimes with reason. Here is more of it than we could have ever wanted.