Jar City [2006] – A Restless Land Blighted by Haunted Past

Icelandic author Arnaldur Indridason’s crime fiction provides rich insight into the small island nation’s culture and the conflicts plaguing them – from racism, immigration to stark isolation & corporate malfeasance -- in their march towards modernity. Mr. Indridason’s Erlendur detective series have captivated readers all around the world. 9 out of his 11 novels were translated into English (I have read five so far). Detective Erlendur, like other Nordic detective protagonists, is an enigmatic personality with a bruised past and constantly engaged in a battle to conquer his inner demons. He is a solitary, straight-faced, and well-determined individual who pretty much seems to be the embodiment of Iceland itself.

Arnaldur Indridason’s novels always exhibit a lament for the loss of heritage and frets over inhumane, indifferent economic progress. Yet, the crime fictions don’t try to mythologize the past. In fact, the novelist’s tales emphasize that there’s much more to their country than its idyllic or beatific looks the tourist department advertises. In 2006, Arnaldur Indridason’s best-seller Jar City (aka Myrin) was adapted into feature-film by Iceland’s prolific and prominent film-maker Baltasar Kormakur (101 Reykjavik, Everest).

 

Written in 2000, and translated to English in 2004, the novel Jar City won Glass Key Award for Scandinavian Crime Fiction. Indridason later won Gold Dagger, Britain’s top crime fiction award, for Silence of the Grave. Director Kormakur’s irredeemably stark visual style is often compared with Norwegian film-maker Erik Skjoldbjaerg’s top-class procedural Insomnia (1997). He was internationally renowned for the Icelandic slacker film 101 Reykjavik (his directorial debut). After the wonderful dramedy The Sea (2002), he went on to direct strictly mediocre American thriller A Little Trip to Heaven. His directorial sensibilities strengthened once again in Jar City which had a great mood and perfect style to enrich the distressing substance.

The film opens in the dark office of a hospital’s genetic research wing as a fatigued man named Orn (Atli Rafn Sigurdsson) is looking over some papers. Orn’s six year old daughter is dying of incurable genetic disorder disease. Orn has dedicated his life to track down the origin of rare diseases within his country and now he is left with no option to treat the disorder. He sings a lullaby to his little daughter and it is cut to the shots of funeral procession. In the other corner of the city, an elderly man named Holberg is found murdered, his head split by ashtray. ‘It’s typical Icelandic murder: messy and pointless’ says detective Sigurdur Oli (Bjorn Hlynur Haraldsson) to chief detecive Erlendur (Ingvar E Sigurdsson). Erlendur is not a man of style. He just wears a heavy cardigan and sports a dogged look, dutifully following the crumbs of evidence to get at the truth. 

Similar to Jar City: Trapped (TV series) -- Season 1 & Season 2

As Erlendur and his detective team piece together Holberg’s past to understand the motive behind the murder, Erlendur’s wayward, drug-addicted daughter Eva (Agusta Eva Erlendsdottir) crosses the path. She desperately asks the father for some money. Later, when Erlendur invesigates Holberg’s old friend Ellidi (Theodor Juliusson) – Iceland’s notorious maniac – in prison, the man pierces Erlendur’s steely resolve by saying nasty things about Eva (some of which he knows to be true). A corrupt policeman, a incident of little girl who died too young, an alleged case of rape, and the missing case of Holberg’s yet another notorious friend Gretar gets mixed up in the murder investigation. Gradually, Erlendur learns how the indelible past has left its traces on the present, choking the life out of peaceful individuals. The mystery here is so thin and easily predictable, but what’s more intriguing is the thematic exploration of loneliness and loss which is sufficiently idiosyncratic to the particular community.  

 The chief flaw of Kormakur’s adaptation is its minimized focus on the hazardous aspects of genetic research and the turmoil over limited gene pools. Director Kormakur rushes past in the later half without profoundly exploring these vital thematic issues. While the plot-driven approach towards the end brings it a few notches down from being great crime feature, Kormakur’s breath-taking visuals keeps us intrigued throughout. In the opening sequence, there’s an elegiac shot of a dying girl bathed in blue light and then later we see shot of the child’s body on cold slab, cut to overhead shot of the same girl dressed in angelic white dress and laid inside a coffin. The harsh and unforgiving nature of the landscape is brilliantly established in the prologue. It’s the tale where only the strongest survive and the meek indviduals and children who are buried underneath haunt the strongest. And, the tale’s strongest character have lost their children (Erlendur’s loss of his child is slightly different to that of Orn’s loss). This irreparable loss serves as central force that drives the actions of protagonists and antagonists. 

Director Kormakur makes perfect use of Iceland’s damned, intimidating landscapes which reflects the inner lives of the characters. Ellidi defiles like the punishing weather, Orn mourns the loss similar to the isolated population, and Erlendur stands tall, succumbing to his daughter’s love as well as denying to be browbeaten by the other bullying factors. The moral implications of the crime are more complex than the procedure to find the perpetrator. It’s understandable especially after considering the fact that this is a small country where everyone is connected to another, in more than one ways, and a place where murder is rare. The motives behind such crimes won’t be definitely as twisted as in the large-scale man-hunts in American procedurals.

Also Read:  25 Essential Iceland Movies That Are Worth Your Time

Thankfully the best parts of Jar City are not the moments leading to unveiling of central mystery. The juicy part lies in studying the contrasts of the place and in scrutinizing little gestures to vividly draw the character’s inner lives. For example, Erlendur’s brief longing to look at the girl serving at drive-in counter tells us something about his emotional pains. Moreover, the film shines in the moments depicting deadpan humor. In one scene, detectives Sigurdur and Elinborg to further the investigation are compelled to go door-to-door asking old women if they had been raped thirty years ago (‘No thank you’ says a old woman when Sigurdur asks ‘Have you been raped?’). Ingvar Sigurdsson leads the brilliant cast, flawlessly playing the disheleved detective who showcases fondness for his daughter and boiled sheep’s head.  

Jar City (95 minutes) is a startlingly shot Icelandic murder mystery that’s thin on twists, but thick on brooding atmosphere and moral ambiguities. It’s constantly engaging, although it doesn’t entirely transcend the archetypal elements of detective stories.  

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Woman at War [2018] – A Moving and Layered Drama on the Dominant Problem of Our Times

Iceland film-maker Benedikt Erlingsson’s Woman at War (2018) is about a dynamic, middle-aged woman’s relentless crusade to ‘save the world’, which doesn’t involve fighting aliens or rogue nation states in possession of nuclear weapons. She rather sabotages power lines in the beautiful and striking Reykjavik countryside, which carries electricity to an aluminium smelter plant. At the woman’s flat, there’s the portraits of Gandhi and Nelson Mandela, leaders who sabotaged infrastructures that really got the attention of their colonizers. Yet, Woman at War couldn’t be labeled as a pamphleteering, propaganda film, narrowly focusing on the conundrum existing between climate change and economic growth. In fact, Benedikt Erlignsson’s interesting storytelling method goes beyond the ominous tone of an apocalyptic story and innovatively characterizes the inner conflicts of a determined monkey-wrencher that it’s hard to not succumb to its off-beat charms.

Woman at War, which premiered during the International Critics’ Week at 2018 Cannes Film Festival, opens with Halla (a very brilliant Halldora Geirhardsdottir) using a bow and arrow to destroy the power tower, disrupting the operations of a aluminium factory. After outmaneuvering government helicopters and police force, Halla gets out of the countryside to Reykjavik with the help of an ‘alleged’ cousin (Johann Sigurdarson), a stoic sheep farmer. At the city, Halla plays the role of an elegant middle-aged woman where she works as a choir-director. Right when Halla’s actions draw more debate on media and among public, she gets a call from the adoption agency notifying her that she can now adopt a 4-year-old Ukrainian girl, orphaned by war (she put in the application years ago).

Halla has to choose between motherhood and industrial sabotage. Before taking a decision, she goes to meet her identical twin sister Asa, also mentioned as the back-up parent in the adoption application. Asa aspires to be a sage, who is about to go on a retreat to India. Both are selfless souls, mindful of the world’s problems. While Halla believes in actions that fixes the problems, Asa takes up an inward search and attempts to fix herself through meditation. Meanwhile, Halla types up a manifesto (in which she calls herself ‘Mountain Woman’) and tosses-up copies of it from the roof of a college building. The scathing words directed against the powers that be sets off an elaborate political propaganda, by the end of which she is written off as a terrorist and as the source of all economic troubles ailing Iceland. Subsequently, Halla intensifies the crusade by bringing down power lines with stolen Semtex explosives. In the ensuing chase, involving helicopters, surveillance drones, and police check-posts, Halla barely escapes from her pursuers. At the back of her mind, there’s still the dilemma of whether to ‘save’ humanity through her idealistic endeavors or to just save a kid and enrich her life.

Benedikt Erlingsson proved himself to be a film-maker with flair in his debut feature Of Horses and Men (2013). With Woman at War, he includes a puckish sense of humor and abusrdism which clearly doesn’t downplay the serious themes at play. Mr. Erlingsson breaks the fourth wall by using the musicians (not just the music) to comment on the actions. A trio of Icelandic musicians (drums, harmonium, and tuba) – which includes the composer David Thor Jonsson -- is seen throughout the film whom Halla only sees performing the music exclusively for her. They are the witnesses to the woman’s personal war. Halla occasionally cues the musicians, this magical interaction highlighting the woman’s inner emotions and the nature of her actions. When Halla hears the news about Ukrainian girl from the adoption agency, a trio of Ukrainian folk singers dressed in traditional attire also pop up in her world. When Halla eventually catches up a flight to Ukraine, the folk singers and Icelandic musicians play together, probably underlining the synergy of her life goals. On other occasions, the mere presence of musicians provides the foreboding feel; like when Halla reaches the airport, only to see the drummer sitting alone in the parking lot. The implication of this is made clear even before the drummer plays his score.

The shots of picturesque Icelandic landscapes (cinematography by Bergsteinn Bjorgulfsson) are always stunning to look at, and here the nature is one of the pivotal themes. Erlingsson pays tribute to nature by showing how it recuperates Halla (a beautiful shot of hot-springs) and grants her refuge. The director has thrown in lot of interesting visual gags and running jokes (one involving a hapless Spanish bicycle tourist). For the most part, it’s an entertaining directorial style, which similar to the works of Finnish auteur Aki Kaurismaki balances between comedy and pain. The script written by Erlingsson and Olafur Egilsson superbly tackles the moral complexity of the central character and the big issues at its core. The writing deftly interrogates Halla’s emotions instead of projecting her simply as an eco-warrior; even her own sense of self-importance is questioned in the narrative flow. The contrasts in the narrative are beautifully orchestrated: for instance, a jolly-good last minute twist is followed up with a somber situation (of world drowning) and yet the chorus in the background emphasizes upon hope. In spite of setting off the tone of an action movie, the writing never confines itself to genre conventions. And it ends in a quietly affecting manner without striving to make grand statements or provide due catharsis. 

Overall, Woman at War (101 minutes) is a well-crafted, quirky adventure drama that also doubles up as a thought-provoking climate change movie. 

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Under the Tree [2017] -- The Misdeeds of Resentful Suburbanites

Deep-seated trauma, hostility, and misunderstanding can reduce any grown-ups into bickering children as the preventable irrationality eventually leads to terrible consequences. In Icelandic director Hafsteinn Gunnar Sigurdsson’s third feature film Under the Tree (‘Undir trenu’, 2017), we witness two dysfunctional plot-knots in which mean-spirted Reykjavik suburbanites do (and say) nasty things to each other. The film opens with the image of  a stale marriage, the couples in question – Atli (Steinpor Hroar Steiporsson) and Agnes (Lara Johanna Jonsdottir) lie in bed not facing each other, the sterile surroundings adding to their feelings of detachment. Soon, Agnes catches Atli on the verge of masturbating to a sex video, which happens to feature Atli and his ex-girlfriend Rakel (Dora Johannsdottir). Agnes accuses her husband of committing adultery though Atli says it’s an old video.

The kicked out husband/dad (the couple has a little girl) stays at his parents’ home where a different sort of dispute is going on. Atli’s mom, Inga (Edda Bjorgvinsdottir) is still grieving over her missing first son who has probably committed suicide. Atli’s dad Baldvin (Sigurdur Sigurjonsson) works as a choir director and finds it hard to offset his wife’s depression and hysterics. A beautiful large tree grows in Baldvin and Inga’s backyard, which has overgrown into the property of their neighbor, ruining the attractive and fitness-obsessed housewife Eybjorg’s (Selma Bjornsdottir) efforts to tan. Eybjorg’s husband Konrad (Porsteinn Bachmann) cordially requests Baldvin to prune the tree. But Inga who holds a grudge against Eybjorg delivers a nasty reply. What then starts as harmless pranks blows into full-fledged feud that ends with a bloodbath.

Meanwhile, Atli try to reconcile with Agnes (who continues to cold-shoulder him) and obtain the right to see his five-year-old daughter. In one hilarious apartment meeting scene, Agnes rats out Atli’s perversion in hopes of humiliating him in front of others. But the discussion largely rests on a carefree couple whose loud lovemaking causes unrest among others. Under the Tree is the kind of movie where you can easily guess how the stakes are going to be raised. You see Inga’s fluffy house cat and Eybjorg’s cherished dog, and somehow know that the escalating tensions are going to be intertwined to the pet’s lives. Kitty goes missing and Inga’s paranoia, heightened by internal turmoil regarding the unknown fate of elder son, makes her to do absurd yet vicious things. Atli perceives the dispute like any disinterested son watching his folks making a mountain out of a molehill. Nevertheless, he couldn’t serve as voice of reason since his own preposterous behavior (creating ruckus at Agnes’ work-place and taking out his daughter from kindergarten for a ‘picnic’ in the IKEA parking lot) threatens to escalate the domestic dispute.

Director Hafsteinn Gunnar Sigurdsson brings forth an oddly satisfying experience in observing the suburban individuals’ mean-streak. The elegant new-age bungalows with large glass windows serve as a kind of box (or like a museum exhibit) that displays the worst of human specimen’s behavior. The humanity depicted here is decidedly bleak and full of cynicism, albeit humorous and meaningful. Sigurdsson may not empathize enough with his characters, but he doesn’t take a position too distanced from everything he is satirizing. There are some surprises in the writing, allowing characters to display some emotional spontaneity. For instance, the moment Atli shares with his father Baldvin inside the tent, erected in the backyard. Drinking bourbon they reasonably discuss Inga’s delusions and Agnes’ confusion and righteous anger. That’s a picture of vulnerability and understanding lying beneath the often exploding emotions of resentment. Perhaps, director Sigurdsson is touch too hard on his women characters. Inga, Agnes, and Eybjorg are often rendered insufferable, their spiteful behavior mostly labelled as fuel for the men’s brutality. The animosity developed over a tree whose eventual destruction obviously serves as the metaphor for humans’ intolerant attitude and inability to co-exist. The violent conflict also accounts for the ways grief and hysteria provokes the unsympathetic tendencies within us.

For director Hafsteinn Gunnar Sigurdsson, Under the Tree is a change of pace from his two previous concise character studies, Either Way (2011) and Paris of the North (2014), although once again he employs absurdist humor as his narrative's driving force. The sub-urbanites aren’t well-drawn like Sigurdsson’s pathetic yet appealing central characters in other films. The glorious Icelandic scenery is also largely absent, hence the Reykjavik setting could be easily transplanted to US or Western Europe. The actors and their performances, however, are convincing. They bring naturalism to the heightened, cruel circumstances. Altogether, this story of humanity gone mad vibrates with palpable unease and a pitch-black sense of humor. 

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Cold Fever [1995] – A Captivating Icelandic Deadpan Comedy

In the book ‘Cinema of Small Nations’ (edited by Mette Hjort), in the chapter analyzing Icelandic cinema (written by Bjorn Nordfjord), it is mentioned that ‘Iceland represents one of the world’s smallest national cinemas – one where the local and global meet face to face’. Although it’s called as the smallest (country’s population is currently around 331,000), the relative quality of Icelandic cinema is simply staggering.  Iceland cinema’s history mostly begins in the 1980s where productions financed and screened in Iceland designed to only appeal or address the Icelanders. It’s only with Fridrik Thor Fridriksson’s Children of Nature (1991) Iceland cinema gained international attention (the film was nominated for an Academy Award). The film tells the story of an elderly couple fleeing from their nursing home in Reykjavik (Iceland’s capital) to return for the final time to their home of youth. While the film possessed idiosyncratic Icelandic touches, it easily connected with global audiences due to its exploration of universal themes like death, nature, and life. Director Fridriksson used all the profit he gained from the film’s international distribution deals to establish his production company – Iceland Film Corporation. He bought some production equipment using that money and went to shape the glorious era of Icelandic cinema [the future of Iceland cinema marked as precarious after the major financial crisis in the country between 2008 and 2011. The government’s funds for cinema were increasingly reduced. Yet, Iceland continues to produce renowned films in the last five years – Volcano, Either Way, Of Horses and Men, Sparrow, Metalhead, Life in a Fishbowl, Rams to name a few] .

Fridrik Thor Fridriksson made his feature-film debut in 1987 with the drama White Whales. Prior to his debut, he made numerous documentaries as well as short experimental movies. For years, he ran a film society (in the late 1970s & 80s) and expanded its members to around 2,000. This was the time before VHS and when the attendance at the screening kept increasing, he used the money to buy a 16mm camera. After the renowned success of Children of Nature, Fridriksson continued his transnational narrative style in Movie Days (1994), which is set during Cold War days and examined the impact of it on the domestic community. Fridriksson’s fourth feature film Cold Fever ('A koldum, klaka', 1995) not only had a transnational narrative, but also a multinational cast and production team. Cold Fever tells the tale of young Tokyo business executive Atsushi Hirata (Masatoshi Nagase) traveling to the remote corner of Iceland in order to perform rituals for his deceased parents (who died there in an accident). The dead-pan humor plus the surrealistic and endearingly humanistic touches reminds us of the works of Jim Jarmusch and Coen Brothers. In fact, Mr. Fridriksson in his 2014 interview to critic Michael Glover Smith (in White City Cinema), confides the interesting set of events that initiated the making of the movie.

Jim Jarmusch was invited for the screening of his brilliant anecdotal comedy Mystery Train (1989) at Reykjavik Film Festival. Producer Jim Stark made the visit on Jarmusch’s behalf. When Fridriksson and Mr. Stark had an amiable conversation, there were talks of collaborating on a film. Stark asked the director to include Japanese actor Masatoshi Nagase in his new story ideas. Later, Fridriksson traveled to Japan to get a grip on his story when he came across the news about the death of two Japanese scientists in Iceland (by drowning). Japanese people traveled to Iceland to perform the due rituals and hence Fridriksson was bestowed with a narrative idea (Jim Stark also co-wrote the script for Cold Fever). Director Fridriksson states that he has deep love for Japanese cinema, so much that he used the chance to cast maverick Japanese film-maker Seijun Suzuki in a cameo role (to play the protagonist's grandfather in a scene).

The film opens in Tokyo, following the monotonous life of Hirata, and scrutinizes the confined spaces around him. He shrugs off his grandfather’s advice to perform ceremonies at the site of his parents’ death. Like his father, Hirata too isn’t very religious. Furthermore, he dislikes cold temperature and is all set to take a golfing holiday trip to the warm Miami. But, he feels certain guilt over the death of his parents. He wasn’t so close with them and feels he should at least do his duty now. Soon, Hirata is en-route to Iceland. On the plane, a foreign woman asks Hirata in English, ‘Is this your first visit to Iceland?’ She further adds ‘You are going to love it. Everybody does’ as if it’s also addressed to the movie-lovers who haven’t much explored the cinematic territory of Iceland. The shot is cut to a huge snow-covered mountain range which stands as the exact opposite to the earlier cramped spaces of glitzy Tokyo. The shot makes one more thing clear: that Hirata has chosen one of the worst times to visit Iceland – in the middle of winter with its non-stop snow-storms. 

Cold Fever has one long running gag. It’s the joke of watching Hirata’s bewildered expressions upon confronting the poker-faced foreign tourists and eccentric natives. Similar to all the great culture-clashing road-movies, Cold Fever is memorable for its oddball characters. And only a very few of them are gimmicky interludes. The majority of vignettes are laced with humanistic touches. The movie also has a mystical edge to it that confirms to the unique Icelandic qualities or themes. The array of strange individuals Hirata meet includes: a foreign woman who collects photographs of funerals; a cab-driver who takes a break from work to perform his role in Nativity scene; and a strange girl whose screams shatter tall icebergs; and a very hospitable local guy who nudges Hirata to find inner peace in the world’s most remote and coldest  location. The Japanese guy drinks the stinging national beverage Black Death, hears blaring songs of Icelandic rock n roll, tastes ram’s testicles and sheep’s head, rarely allowing his frustration or delectation to raise above the surface of his face.

Cold Fever is both satisfying as mediation on life & death, and as a fine travelogue, capturing the striking different personalities amidst miles of stillness. The pleasure in the narrative is witnessing the hybrid account of the Icelandic’ness’. When Hirata is caught in the cruel weather or fails to eradicate his disorientation caused by interactions with locals, we get something different from touristic impressions. But later as he merges with the natural environment, he is more able to understand the basic good-hearted nature of the natives. The cultural or national barriers blurs as Hirata binds with the Icelander through the common thread of humanity. Director Fridriksson portrays nature in the same way as the people – both cruel and unbelievably poignant. The narrative trajectory not only hinges on showcasing the land and people’s peculiarities, but also weaves a holistic understanding of Icelandic existence. The multinational movie cast is terrific. Nagase is perfect as the inexpressive pilgrim (in Mystery Train he went to Memphis obsessed with American 50s and in recent Paterson he made a journey to visit the land of poet William Carlos Williams). The only vignette which didn’t work for me was Lily Taylor and Fisher Stevens’ cameo as a kooky American couple.   

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Cold Fever (85 minutes) is an immensely enjoyable Icelandic road movie blessed with wealth of ethereal imagery. It’s a must watch for those who love the cool indie comedies of Jim Jarmusch and can also serve as a fine introductory point to the quiet young yet intriguing cinema of Iceland. 

A koldum klaka (1995) -- IMDb 

Rams [2015] – A Poignant Tragicomedy

                                          What would my mind conjure up if someone uttered the word ‘Iceland’? Breathtaking, awe-inspiring as well as intimidating landscapes, lack of communication, loneliness, and repressed emotions. Of course, I have derived these images & the attached feelings from their movies. So, half-hostile and half-inspiring landscapes plus the alienated human beings is what makes up as the ingredients for Icelandic cinema. Director Grimur Hakanorson’s “Rams” (‘Hrutar’, 2015) opens with the blend of these magical ingredients: a calm, beautiful valley (north of Iceland), neatly aligned buildings, serene lambs feeding on the pasture, and a fence dividing the land. The crucial human elements are the two old brothers – Gummi (Sigurdur Sigurjonsson) and Kiddi (Theodor Juliusson -- played the central role in Runar Runarsson's "Volcano") – whom haven’t exchanged any words for the past 40 years. Hakanorson injects a matter-of-fact objectivity and dry comedy into the simpler story of two brothers that “Rams” becomes a strangely beautiful fable and ultimately a profound movie experience. Eventually, “Rams” would be remembered as one of those movies deeply rooted in its distinct environment and culture, which at the same time goes on to generate a wider, universal appeal.

                                          The brother’s farms are situated in a desolate patch of land, known as ‘Bardardalur Valley’. Initially, we see these bearded, taciturn men butting heads in the ‘Best Rams’ contest. Gummi’s ‘Garpur’ loses to Kidd’s ‘Sproti’ by 0.5 differences in points. Gummi storms outside to desperately take a look at the Kiddi’s winning ram. He is shocked to find the symptoms of the most dreaded disease in the valley, known as ‘scrapie’. The disease is highly contagious, deadly and if its presence is confirmed, the whole flock of sheep in the valley will be slaughtered. If it leads to a slaughter, the farmer would have to disinfect their farms and wait for at least two years to re-stock it with new cattles. Gummi and his elder brother Kiddi never married and tend to prefer the companionship of the prized rams than fellow humans. So, the loss would be naturally devastating. Gummi confesses his fear to a sheep-farming friend, which brings the community’s veterinary inspectors to Kiddi’s farm. They take away Kidd’s prized Ram and in turn Kiddi takes a potshot at Gummi’s window with a shotgun.

                                               Without much fuss, director Hakornarson depicts hardscrabble realities of a life that’s rapidly vanishing. Kiddi angrily remarks how the land’s native Ram stocks (Bolstadur stock) will be totally destroyed by the slaughter and subsequently replaced by hormone-injected sheep, imported from Western Fjords. However, Kiddi and Gummu aren’t going to join forces to fight against visible enemies of establishment. Theirs isn’t also the simpler ancient vs modern tradition conflict. They just want to preserve the only love in their life. Look at these men’s emotions, while touching at the rams’ horns or when huddling them. Where would lonely Kiddi and Gummi find such unquestioning givers and receivers of love? Apart from loss of love, the sheep’s inevitable fate would also be a loss of identity.  The anticipated melting of brothers’ enmity happens at one point, but those images exude with an astonishing humanity and profundity.

                                               Through simple actions, the director/writer is able to differentiate between Gummi and Kiddi. Kiddi is a hard drinker who rages over everything, while Gummi is a pacifist guy. Gummi’s actions infuse light comedic touch to the narrative. The way he barks to call Kiddi’s dog Somi or the manner he sends an invoice for broken windows, which Kiddi splintered by a gunshot serves as striking staging. In one humorous as well as tender scene, Gummi uses a bulldozer to lift drunken, passed out Kiddi and carries him to a hospital. The way each frames are designed in this scene has an exceptional, arresting quality. Another biggest strength of “Rams” is director Hakonarson’s ability to flawlessly shift the tones. The initial tender, quirky relationship between the brothers and their rams are undercut by an irredeemable tragedy. Then, this tragedy is organically sprinkled with light-hearted touches, and towards the end, the mood swings to top, reaching a touching emotional peak. It might all look perfectly easy, but the balance between the delicacy of human emotions and brutality of nature & fate is attained without a single flaw. I think was a well accomplished storytelling method without ever getting caught into the tedious routine.

 

                                                 If we look closely Hakonarson and his cinematographer Sturla Brandth Grovlen never repeats a shot twice. Even in the simple conversation scene happening inside restaurant or Gummi’s house, different angles are employed. Despite the narrative’s slower pace, this helps to not everything monotonous. Whenever Gummi is plagued by paranoia (that the authorities will take away his sheep), we could see the shots becoming tighter. Since Hakanorson is documentary film-maker, he easily diffuses the sense of realism from the very first frame. The slow gait of Gummi and the calm rural atmosphere in the first scene gives us a feeling of watching the real sheep farmer.  And, the actors Sigujonsson and Juliusson (both comes from the theater background) have put in great effort to transform themselves into sheep farmers. In an interview director Hakonarson gave to the site ‘The Moveable Fest’ explains how he gave the actors the script a year before the shooting started and how he prepared them to play the central roles: “Two weeks before shooting, we had a rehearsal period and I divided it into two parts. There was one week of rehearsing the actual scenes with dialogue, and one week spent on location, where I took them to the valley and they stayed with the sheep, learning how to talk to them and touch their muscles, to drive a tractor, and also just to inhale the rural atmosphere.”  Such a detailed preparation is what makes every sequence quietly powerful. The musical score by Atli Orvarsson adds more poignancy to the proceedings.

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                                                  “Rams” aka “Hrutar” (90 minutes) reverberates profound, complex emotions within a simpler narrative framework. Its genuine showcase of humanity and the raw performances even towers over the sublime shots of Icelandic landscapes. 

Hrutar (2015) -- IMDb 

 Rams -- Movies that make you think