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With her knack for storytelling, 16-year-old Astrid Ericsson (Alba August) woos a married older man, Reinhold Blomberg (Henrik Rafaelsen). Many years later, this same author, now Mrs. Astrid Lindgren, becomes famous for “Pippi Longstocking.” In between these events, Mr. Blomberg gets her pregnant, she secretly gives birth in Denmark, and she returns for little Lars, despite the protests of her devoutly Christian family. The story is surprisingly scandalous for its setting of 1926 Sweden: It’s not the biopic one expects of a beloved children’s author. So why tell this story? What does Astrid’s coming-of-age have to do with “Pippi Longstocking”?

Directed by Pernille Fischer Christensen, “Becoming Astrid” (in Swedish, “Unga Astrid”) casts its protagonist as a bold, feminist, compassionate girl — so compassionate, in fact, that she repeatedly sacrifices her freedom for someone she loves. She breaks rules, acts boldly, and cares deeply. The subtext, therefore, is this: Astrid, like Pippi, is a woke, wild role model. Hers is a tale of nuanced empowerment, befitting the classics she contributes to children’s literature.

Panoramic cinematography spotlights this theme of liberation, panning over the beautiful Swedish countryside in expressions of openness and possibility. It is here that Astrid first yearns for freedom: She cuts her hair short and tosses her freshly-bobbed head in the breeze, smiling broadly as she bikes down a long dirt road. She is on her way to meet him. The cinematography whisks us away with her, feeling light and free.

But while this scene is liberating, it foreshadows hard times to come: Although Astrid is bold with her hair style (which her mother says is a “one-way ticket to hell”), it’s Mr. Blomberg who thinks that bobs are in and inspired her to cut it in the first place. Although she’s the one who seduces him, he’s the one who covers up the scandal by keeping Lars, their baby, in Denmark. Mr. Blomberg is a dark, brooding man, in contrast to Astrid’s flaxen bob and big smile. The man-child couple is repulsive. Though they are in love, they are always in conflict, and as much freedom as he gives Astrid, he takes away. Rules of gender and religion are simply too strict to allow for their relationship.

The script is full of gendered confrontations — perhaps a bit heavy-handed, but nonetheless central to the story. From the beginning, Astrid confronts her mother, Hanna Johnsson (Maria Bonnevie), about gender disparities. For example, her brother Gunnar’s curfew is later than hers. Later, these fights are about whether she and her illegitimate child are welcome in the home. “Aren’t you my mother?” Astrid cries. “Isn’t he your grandson?” Astrid nearly abandons baby Lars, for he lives with a foster mother, Marie (Trine Dyrholm), in Denmark for the first two years of his life. But when Marie gets sick, Astrid reclaims her baby boy and wins him over with stories. For example, she tells Lars about a land where children drink soda all the time and sleep with their feet on the pillows. He warms up to this idea and asks to sleep in her bed. Though Astrid is young and inexperienced, she easily adapts to her maternal role via her narrative capabilities, in a poignant choice by the filmmaker.

And so storytelling bookends Astrid’s own story: Long ago Mr. Blomberg fell in love with her for her words, and now she uses bedtime tales to gain her shy son’s trust. Viewers should not interpret this movie as fitting for small children, though. Scenes of childbirth, abandonment, depression, and grief make it a far less whimsical film than its protagonist might suggest.

Its only weak point, in fact, is this dubious integration of child-and-adult worlds. Clearly Astrid and Pippi are both spunky, and clearly Astrid is a gifted writer. But the frame narrative is odd: The movie opens with an elderly Astrid sitting at her desk, opening fan mail from children. A fourth-grade class has sent her a cassette of voice recordings, and when she puts it in her cassette player, the voice-overs begin: “Thank you for all your stories,” the class says. Then one child asks, “How can you write so well about being a child when you haven’t been one for so long?” It is this question that launches the flashback into Astrid’s 16-year-old life.

But the voice-overs persist throughout the film, and the farther we get from that opening scene, the more random they sound. For example, just before Astrid reclaims Lars, we hear a voiceover of a child observing, “The children in your books can overcome almost anything.” Perhaps that’s a valuable thesis about how Astrid’s life shaped her work, but viewers can interpret that on their own, without being pulled from the story by recalling the frame narrative. The small child’s voice has little place in the very adult scene of whether or not to reclaim a fostered son.

Altogether, the story is surprising and uplifting. It is a Bildungsroman of a talented writer finding liberation from the social and religious expectations of the time, acting always out of love. Pippi appeals to children for her compassion and pluck — and “Becoming Astrid” enchants its viewers in the same way.