Mads Mikkelsen in The Promised Land (Henrik Ohsten/Magnolia Pictures)

You don’t want to make Mads Mikkelsen angry.

The great Danish actor with the magnificently craggy face specializes in playing men who are stoic on the surface, but who may explode with righteous anger at any moment. He gives vent in Nikolaj Arcel’s sturdily old-fashioned period melodrama as Capt. Ludvig Kahlen, an 18th-century lower-class Dane who distinguished himself first as a soldier and now decides to farm the inhospitable, uncultivated barren zone of the Jutland that belongs to the king, a decision foolhardy for anyone but not our single-minded protagonist.

Kahlen must also deal with Frederik de Schinkel, the brutal owner of a nearby estate who passionately loathes a nobody like Kahlen and who wants to take over even more land and pound Kahlen into submission. (The king’s proclamation notwithstanding, the aristocrat believes the land belongs to him.) Much of the movie comprises confrontations in which de Schnickel’s gleeful viciousness is depicted opposite Kahlen’s quiet determination as he attempts to succeed as a farmer. He eventually grows potatoes, to seemingly everyone’s surprise but his own.

Helping Kahlen to subsist on the land is Ann Barbara, a resolute young woman who continues working with him even after her husband, Johannes (Morten Hee Andersen), is grotesquely murdered at de Schickel’s orders—Ann Barbara and Johannes left de Schickel’s employ as indentured serfs, thus breaking the law. She soon, unsurprisingly, finds her way into Kahlen’s bed as well. Then there’s Anmai Mus, a Romani girl Kahlen first sees as a ruffian helping a highwayman try to steal his belongings. She eventually becomes like a young daughter to him and Ann Barbara.

Based on the novel The Captain and Ann Barbara, by Ida Jessen, The Promised Land is a cinematic soap opera of the highest order. Arcel and cowriter Anders Thomas Jensen smartly structure the film as nothing more than a western in a grand style that could easily take place amid the landscapes of Monument Valley. They effectively utilize well-worn tropes, like the have-nots vs. the landed gentry, into a familiar but worthwhile bit of storytelling whose emotional heft gains much from Mikkelsen’s subtle acting. He can do so much, even with the tiniest eyebrow raise.

Rasmus Videbæk’s lustrous cinematography, Kicki Ilander’s lived-in costumes, Jette Lehmann’s sublimely detailed production design, and Olivier Bugge Coutté’s razor-sharp editing all contribute to the affecting expansiveness in the story and characterizations. Only Dan Romer’s bombastic score thickly and unnecessarily underlines the outsize emotions already on display.

De Schinkel is certainly a cartoonish movie villain, but Simon Bennebjerg’s viscerally unlikable but vigorously humorous performance makes him more than just a stock bad guy. His comeuppance at the hands of women is shot and acted with utmost skill and satisfying savagery. Amanda Collin’s Ann Barbara is a tenacious heroine, while Melina Hagberg’s Anmai Mus overcomes “cute tough kid” clichés to build a credible character. Through it all, Arcel smartly places Mikkelsen front and center, and his presence is both imposing and comforting as the film moves from darkness to light.