When the Light Breaks (Ljósbrot)

 

Writer/director Runár Runársson

Runársson with actress Elín Hall

cinematographer Sophia Olsson

 

 

WHEN THE LIGHT BREAKS (Ljósbrot)                            B                                             Iceland  Netherlands  Croatia  France  (82 mi)  2024  d: Runár Runársson 

Things that appear black or white at first glance often have another side.  Even if something seems terrible at first glance, something beautiful can come out of it, if you take a closer look.  —Writer/director Runár Runársson

A no frills, low-key movie best experienced without knowing a thing about it ahead of time, taking place over a single day, between two remarkably filmed sunsets, where the Icelandic title Ljósbrot is that moment when the light breaks through in the morning.  At least initially this feels like an early Dardennes Brother’s movie, employing a very naturalistic style with the camera fixed on the back of the necks, but it quickly evolves into new territory, coming from a filmmaker whose works are all intensely personal.  A study of guilt, regret, and grief, both collectively and individually, yet anchored in everyday life, discovering it’s not just sadness, but a wide range of shifting emotions that stand out, a mix of beauty and sorrow, where humor and love may be found even in our darkest moments, where this is a ruminative film that creeps up on you, minimalist in form and style, carefully carving out distinct personalities, yet the centerpiece of the film revolves around a single character, Una (Elín Hall, short for Elín Sif Halldórsdóttir, an acclaimed Icelandic singer, songwriter, and actress, maker of four No. 1 singles, like her personalized cover of a David Bowie song, Elín Hall - As The World Falls Down (Official Video) YouTube, 4:33), an art student who is initially seen in the arms of Diddi (Baldur Einarsson), a fellow art student that we learn are in a band together, but we never see or hear them play.  Their relationship is kept secret, as he already has a smalltown girlfriend, Klara (Katla Njálsdóttir, who directs that music video and a collaborates on a music project together forming a pop duo called Mammaðin, mammaðín (@mammadin_), who is known to all the members of the band, so they meet in private, sitting on the rocks by the coast in a gorgeous sunset sequence, Clip from When The Light Breaks YouTube (1:02), discussing where they want to travel together, perhaps the Faroe Islands or Japan, but he leaves early the next morning, presumably to break up with Klara, informing her, “When I get back tomorrow night, we won’t have to hide anything anymore.”  But that moment never comes, as something unsettling occurs, which appears like a nightmarish dream sequence, especially the way the scene is introduced, where sleep gives way to a beautifully extended sequence of flickering lights passing above in the night sky, kind of like the yellow highway lines illuminated by car headlights in David Lynch’s LOST HIGHWAY (1997), but what gives it formidable artistic power is the hauntingly abstract nature of the images, unidentified at first until the camera pulls back, allowing us to see a darkened tunnel roadway with the lights passing overhead, accompanied by a starkly unique, solemnly ethereal piece of ancient music written by an Icelandic composer who grew up on the same street as the filmmaker and died unexpectedly at a relatively young age, Jóhann Jóhannsson - Odi et amo YouTube (3:12), part of a larger work based on what might be the most famous poem in Latin literature, Catullus 85 (I Hate and I Love) by the Roman poet Gaius Valerius Catullus.  That extraordinary introduction happens before the opening credits, leading to the normal routine of a school day in Reykjavík before the news reports the biggest tunnel disaster in Icelandic history, as a fireball consumes the inside of a tunnel, where nearly everyone inside perishes.  No names are initially announced, so we see students crowding around TV’s trying to get the latest updates, with many on their phones reaching out to friends and family members.  When Diddi doesn’t answer his phone, some of the other students get concerned, especially Gunni (Mikael Kaaber), Diddi’s brother who is completely distraught, with Una seen comforting him, reminding him nothing is known yet, so don’t expect the worst.       

Premiering in Un Certain Regard at Cannes, from the maker of Volcano (Eldfjall) (2011) and SPARROWS (2015), which are about broken family relationships, and ECHO (2019), composed of 56 small vignettes, revealing how well he works in a small format, it was easy to get this film mixed up with Payal Kapadia’s 2024 Top Ten List #3 All We Imagine as Light (Prabhayay Ninachathellam), as both titles sound similar and were playing on the same festival circuit at the exact same time, with actress Elín Hall winning a Silver Hugo as Best Actress at the 2024 Chicago Film Festival.  Set against the backdrop of Iceland’s ethereal landscapes, working on 16mm with cinematographer Sophia Olsson, who the director has worked with on all his films since they met at the National Film School of Denmark, what unfolds is a deeply introspective study of human intimacy, a journey through mourning, memory, and the unspoken connections between those left behind, shining a light on a new wave of Scandinavian cinema that examines the intenseness of being human.  While the chaos at the school was confusing enough, it is nothing like the chaos they encounter when a group of friends gather at a Red Cross crisis center (actually the architecturally designed Harpa (concert hall) with its unique glass façade), which is positively mayhem, a national tragedy of epic proportions, with Una learning soon enough that Diddi has died, eyeing her friends from a distance, where it’s clear they are processing his death, leaving everyone in a state of disbelief and powerlessness.  As the day unfolds, Una drifts between friends, family, and solitude, uneasy in any company, and unhappy alone, with the actress capable of conveying a wide range of emotions with barely perceptible changes of expression, using little to no dialogue, having a unique ability to subtly show what her character is going through, mostly dealing with hidden feelings while tasked with pent-up emotions.  What follows resembles the activities of a wake, where there is genuine warmth, humor, solidarity, and the comfort of a group, with the members of the band assembling with Una and Klara, awkwardly thrown together by their friends’ collective mourning, still associating Klara as Diddi’s girlfriend, which only disturbs Una even more, as only she and Gunni knew the true nature of their more recently developing relationship.  As they drink Stoli (Stolichnaya vodka) shots in a bar, Diddi’s favorite drink of choice, they hug and comfort one another, yet all are obviously miserable, with Una only feeling more distanced due to her carefully kept secret, like some kind of outcast, finding it hard not to be resentful towards Klara, who is on the receiving end of shared emotional support as Diddi’s openly acknowledged girlfriend, leaving her having to deal with her own personal crisis alone on a roller coaster of existential feelings.  Gunni feels especially close to her for this reason, but it still stings, leaving her ever more exasperated and alone, having to keep everything to herself, which just gnaws at her, as Diddi was one of the few people who accepted her as she was.  Klara claims she was initially jealous of Una being the only girl in Diddi’s band, but he informed her she had nothing to worry about as she’s a dyke.  The androgynous-looking Una with her short-cropped hair and boyish clothes informs her she’s not a lesbian, but pansexual, more openly attracted to all genders.  Still, there’s a chilliness in the air between them, with Una simply avoiding her as best she can, but they’re hanging out with the same group of friends, which makes that difficult.  In a small country like Iceland, with barely 400,000 inhabitants (only 5 were in Diddi’s high school class), everyone knows everyone, so concealing a relationship is no easy matter.   

With the film exploring a complex mixture of shock, jealousy, and anger, secrets can isolate people, yet grief can ultimately reconnect them, as there’s something about the healing effect of shared suffering.  Befitting of a national tragedy, with Icelandic flags hanging at half-mast, a service is held at Hallgrímskirkja, Iceland's largest church, a modernist architectural marvel designed by State architect Guðjón Samúelsson ("Iceland's extraordinary, futuristic churches"), where the sweeping shots of modern, concrete and glass architecture in Reykjavík contrasts sharply with the natural element of the vast, panoramic Icelandic landscapes, with the group hanging outside afterwards discussing the performance art classes held at school, with Una recounting how Diddi kept drinking one shot of Stoli after another until he finally passed out, making a weird comment on a variety of issues, from substance abuse and personal degradation to youthful resiliency, as he somehow managed to survive the ordeal.  Klara finds that a waste of time, disparaging that kind of performance art, but Una is able to show her how art often leads to undiscovered perspectives, actually broadening one’s outlook.  It is curious that we never hear the music the band plays, but we do see them let loose at an impromptu party, drinking and dancing furiously to the heavy metal music of Hatari’s HATARI – HATRIÐ MUN SIGRA YouTube (3:00), which translates to “Hate will prevail,” a song that won Söngvakeppnin 2019, a Eurovision song contest.  It’s an interesting aside into youth culture, finding a ferociously downbeat subject matter to match their own manic yet morose energy.  Like Christophe Honoré’s first feature, Seventeen Times Cécile Cassard (Dix-sept fois Cécile Cassard) (2002), especially the use of heavy metal rock to express a continuously disorienting mood, this is a delicately restrained film about the stages of grief and how we handle and go through it in different ways, yet it leads to the emotional catharsis that unites us all in our mourning, where nothing is remotely the same afterwards.  As the party ends, Una and Klara, thrown together under the most unfathomable circumstances, are seen standing on either side of a glass window, with their co-mingling, double reflections merging in a Persona-like image, with Una suddenly realizing Klara may reflect another undiscovered side of Diddi.  The sparse script never allows moments of melodrama or emotional excess, and is mostly understated throughout, though there are plenty of hugs and tears, but Una, in particular, plays it pretty close to the vest, cool, but never emotionally aloof, always present in the moment, allowing her face to reveal her combustible inner turmoil.  At such young ages, they are still searching for themselves, finally taking comfort in finding someone else who knows what they’re going through, where words feel unnecessary, as they intrinsically understand this shared moment of grief, mirrored by a moment when the two women brush their teeth side by side in Diddi’s bathroom, with Una at first reaching for a familiar toothbrush, but she stops herself, using her finger instead, joined by Klara who does the exact same thing, while the knowledge that Una has been in this exact same spot before lingers in the air.  Their unexpected closeness is part of the grieving process, just needing someone near to help drive away the engulfing pain, as the Odi et amo music is heard again as light on the water is reflected in another abstract shot that comes to define the fragility of the human spirit.  As the two women wander off into a familiar landscape, nature takes its course, both swallowed up by the colors of another gorgeous sunset, clinging together in the sheer beauty of the moment, as orange hues gently hover over a tranquil sea, allowing the fleeting beauty of nature to speak the unspeakable in its profound silences, literally bathing them in the haunting grace of the moment.    

Heartstone (Hjartasteinn)

 


Director Guðmundur Arnar Guðmundsson

HEARTSTONE (Hjartasteinn)                  B                    

Iceland  Denmark  (129 mi)  2016  ‘Scope  d:  Guðmundur Arnar Guðmundsson  

Official Website

A rather sprawling first-time feature film by a young Icelandic director, Guðmundur Arnar Guðmundsson, winner of the Q Award for Best Gay, LGBT-themed film, who previously made a series of award winning shorts, including ÁRTÚN, which won the Best Narrative short film at the Chicago Film Festival in 2014, focusing this time on the relationship of two 14-year old boys that have been friends since an early age, the more diminutive Thor (Baldur Einarsson), whose father is absent, the runt of the litter living at home with a single mother and two older sisters, and the taller Kristján (Blær Hinriksson), who is living with a physically abusive father.  No easy life for either of them, as the film provides intimate details about their lives growing up in a remote fishing village in Iceland.  Much of it spent outdoors in the rolling hills next to the sea, the boys are part of a generational hierarchy led by an older boy, Ginger (Sveinn Sigurbjörnsson), who is little more than a bully, running around with a group of enforcers where he continually picks on boys younger than him.  In an opening moment he can be seen shooting birds for the sheer pleasure of it, leaving them to rot afterwards.  This act is paralleled by another scene with the two boys hanging with a group their own age, where they are singling out a certain fish, bullrouts, calling them ugly, and then stomping them to death, creating a pervasive mood of meaningless aggression.  These seemingly tiny acts are contrasted by the largesse of the Icelandic landscape, beautifully captured by cinematographer Sturla Brandth Grøvlen, as looming out the window or off in the distance is a unique mix of mountains meeting the sea, where the harshness of the land seems to mirror the temperament of the older men, who tend to be stubborn, gruff, and at times painfully cruel.  No one represents this more than Kristján’s abusive father, Sigurdur (Sveinn Ólafur Gunnarsson), who terrorizes his wife and family, where his mean streak is a sign of his masculinity, in his eyes, as nothing ever comes easy, where you have to work your fingers to the bone just to survive this heartless world.  

Thor and Kristján have it different, as they have each other’s backs and have been best friends forever, where if you ever see one of them, the other is likely to be with him, as they are an inseparable pair, spending all their time together.  Their parents don’t seem to mind, as that’s less they have to look after, as the boys can seemingly take care of themselves, always off on some adventure, heading for the hills and faraway corners of the region, idly exploring something around town, hanging out with others, chasing after farm animals, or just generally following their curiosity, where they have plenty of time to talk about anything at all.  At home, Thor is surrounded by the presence of strong women, something he can’t fully appreciate, as his older sister Hafdís (Rán Ragnarsdóttir) recites dark and melancholic poetry at morning breakfast, where the more outspoken middle sister Rakel (Jónína Þórdís Karlsdóttir) tells her to just shoot herself already and get it over with.  All three gang up on their mother Hulda (Nína Dögg Filippusdóttir) when she has designs on a man, as the general consensus is she’s better off without them, but if truth be told, they don’t get a vote.  Hulda remains young and attractive, especially for the region, where one of the neighbors, Sven (Søren Malling), has a thing for her, handing Thor a necklace to give to his mother, something he wouldn’t be caught dead doing, instead giving it to his own girlfriend Beta (Diljá Valsdóttir) as a sign of going steady, while her less attractive girlfriend Hanna (Katla Njálsdóttir) has designs on Kristján, but only because she thinks she’s supposed to, as there’s no real chemistry between them.  Nonetheless they constantly double date, have their first kiss, spend time alone, even try sex, with Beta kind of pushing the action with Thor, which he willingly follows, while Kristján, who is tall and attractive, does his best not to be impolite to Hanna.

The interest in the girls eventually changes the dynamic between both boys, especially when Kristján playfully plants a kiss on Thor’s mouth, trying to pretend that it’s meaningless, a harmless joke, but it’s clear there’s more behind it, sending both into a tailspin of avoidance, where a mysterious gulf comes between them, neither one able to verbalize what they’re thinking, where a cloud continues to silently hang over both of them.  As if to test their mettle, Sigurdur decides to take these boys on an ominous mission, hiking quite a ways before they reach the edge of a steep cliff, where one boy will be lowered by rope on a harness to collect eggs from the vertical sea stacks, that appear like high-rise apartments stacked up on top of one another in the high cliffs rising out of the sea, with thousands of swarming birds living in the cracks on the rocks, a dangerous and life-threatening mission for men at any age, but for boys, it foolishly and deliberately risks their lives, with Sigurdur asking Thor to take the trek, almost as if that’s one way to get rid of him.  While it’s spectacular imagery, anyone who’s ever witnessed one of these bird sanctuaries realizes how foolhardy this must be, but if anything, it only brings the two boys closer together afterwards, as it’s a harrowing, near-death experience.  Perhaps in shame, that he could never carry off such a risky maneuver himself, Kristján, in an impulsive moment, apparently tries to shoot himself, but miraculously survives.  After returning home from extensive hospital care in Reykjavík, his family refuses to allow Thor anywhere near their son.  There’s a price to be paid in small towns for close friendships, as people in town gossip and carry on as if they have nothing better to do, where these two boys are taunted and tormented, even shunned by those their own age, including the two girls, who refuse to speak to them.  With Kristján secluded offscreen, where Thor has to wonder what in the hell he did to deserve being exiled in his own community, the emotional anguish and social isolation is overwhelming, as there is literally nothing he can do to change people’s opinions, reminiscent of that early scene where a fish was singled out and labeled ugly before it was stomped to death.  People grow up harboring ugly thoughts about anyone or anything that’s different, where especially in small towns, it can drive some kids to suicide.  The poetic finale is filled with the turmoil of confusion and anger, yet plays out with a unique tenderness that is an essential thread throughout every friendship.  Showing great attention to detail, the film plays out in a languorous pace, which doesn’t seem to fit the more adrenaline-paced world of kids this age, yet the detached overall manner adds a timeless, near omniscient view, as if the mountains and oceans and souls of the dead are all observing from a distance.