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.    

Arrival

ARRIVAL           B               

USA  (116 mi)  2016  ‘Scope  d:  Denis Villeneuve       Official site

Language is the first weapon drawn in a conflict.

—Louise Banks (Amy Adams)

An old-fashioned love story dressed up in a Spielbergian sci-fi package, like the return of CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND (1977), where the director has formulated an intriguing opening and closing, which stand out for their novel originality, yet the middle seems to drag under the weight of standard military operations that seem to always suggest anything that can go wrong will go wrong.   Only in the movies do people actually live in these picture-perfect locations, like a gorgeous, heavily windowed home on the side of a commercially undeveloped lake, where there’s no neighbors to speak of and a stunning landscape for as far as the eye can see.  It’s an idyllic place of retreat that becomes synonymous with home, the place you raise your children and return to night after night when returning from work.  In this setting, to the elegiac music of Max Richter - On the Nature of Daylight - YouTube (6:14) that opens and closes the film, also used in a dream sequence in Scorsese’s SHUTTER ISLAND (2010), a narrator announces in somber tones that “I used to think this was the beginning of your story,” with this being the place where a certain child was born, as Dr. Louise Banks (Amy Adams)  announces “We are so bound by time…by its order…These are the days that define the story of your life,” as we witness a fast-moving flashback montage of her young daughter Hannah’s life quickly developing through childhood with her single mom until she dies mysteriously of a rare illness.  “Now I’m not sure I believe in beginnings and endings.”  What follows is an indication that there’s a different beginning, something significant that comprises the majority of the film, though we are caught off-guard, wondering if this all happened in the past, or in the future, or if time has somehow been altered in some way.  Recollections of her daughter occur throughout as the film takes an eerie shift to aliens landing in twelve different spots on the globe, where linguist expert Dr. Banks is whisked to the scene by military escort along with physicist Dr. Ian Connelly (Jeremy Renner) to help communicate with these extraterrestrials.  Based on Ted Chiang’s acclaimed 1998 short story entitled Story of Your Life, winner of the Nebula Award for Best Novella in 1999, the film has been adapted by screenwriter Eric Heisserer, where Canadian director Denis Villeneuve, fresh from his Hollywood action thriller Sicario (2015) that takes us into the heart of the Mexican drug cartels, Enemy (2013) , a curiously compelling indie film where a supposed body double turns into an allegorical nightmare of a coming apocalypse, Prisoners (2013), an intriguingly cast Hollywood vigilante movie that veers into torture porn, and 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #7 Incendies, arguably the best of the bunch, a search through a war-torn Middle East for the missing truth about one’s mother, all of which in some way are an exploration of grief.   

From a sparsely populated university class by Dr. Banks on the Portuguese language where what few students showed up are completely glued to their cellphones following news updates on the alien landings, panic breaks out across the globe, as students walk out on class, the stock market plunges, fights break out in public, riots ensue, end of the world cults declare a coming apocalypse, while TV demagogues call for radical actions, and everyone immediately calls their moms, as this event has a way of altering the world order, with various nations developing their own way of responding to this unknown presence.  While the book never ventures into a military response, that’s simply not the Hollywood way, who after all, sent the military after King Kong (1933), laying its imprint all over this picture that might have been so much better without it.  Curiously, the film never shows that actual aliens landing, but instead follows the fierce public outcry, showing images of giant-sized, vertically hanging blimps, showing no signs of releasing toxic gas, while at the same time there is no follow up response from the extraterrestrial creatures, who never leave their ships and are content to sit there passively.  By the time Dr. Banks arrives to a rural Montana farmland, a military protocol has been established, as they are the only units allowed close to the landing sites, as the public has been prevented from being anywhere near them, which is why television figures so prominently in the ensuing panic.  While there are military officers constantly monitoring the alien ships, Dr. Banks and Dr. Connelly are escorted to the site by Colonel Weber (Forest Whitaker), revealing as little as possible about their mission, but basically wanting to know why are they here? While Connelly immediately goes into a litany of mathematical possibilities that will be unearthed by their successful interplanetary travels, it’s Dr. Banks that insists upon basic communication first before they get ahead of themselves.  Therein lies her specialty, claiming being in the presence of the aliens helps her understand how they communicate.  Dressed in bulky biohazard spacesuits, where they are hosed down afterwards to prevent contamination, they are hoisted into the interior of the alien ship, as they soon learn a lower door opens every 18 hours for visitation.  The anticipation of the initial contact has an extraordinary suspense factor, as no one, including the audience, knows what to expect.  This aspect is deftly handled by the director, elevating the level of expectation to unseen heights, which is arguably the best part of the film.  Once inside, they reach what looks like an elevator shaft that they must ascend, where surprisingly they are able to climb up themselves, as gravity disappears, though they stumble from the newness of it all and the bloated awkwardness of their suits.  Their destination is enclosed with a large window panel containing the only light, behind which the aliens appear, as if rising out of a haze of smoke, strangely resembling the arachnid creatures hovering over the city seen in Enemy (2013) .

While this is the third time the director has used music from Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson, cinematography by Bradford Young, who also shot Selma (2014) and  A Most Violent Year (2014), there are sounds emanating from the aliens, perhaps resembling oceanic creatures like whales, yet no one has been able to make any sense out of them.  Described as heptapods, for their seven dangling legs, they actually resemble jellyfish, but the question remains for viewers, how would any of us attempt to start a conversation?  Dr. Banks chooses to start with the word “human” written on a notecard, holding it out for them to see.  The movements of the creatures is a bit unexpected, as they have a star-like appendage at the end of one leg that emits a cloud of black ink, like a squid, which mysteriously assembles into a circular image with slight variations around the edges, like pieces of growing ivy, making each image distinct, which is how they convey their language.  Back in the science lab afterwards, she and Dr. Connelly pour over the images they received trying to make some sense out of it, returning again 18 hours later for another visit.  We lose any sense of time, as the visits are compacted, though Dr. Banks continues to collect her images while we continue to get mixed messages about what’s happening around the world, as China and Russia are growing increasingly irritated and militarily belligerent, where they fear the aliens are threatening their authority, wanting to send a message through gunfire.  Dr. Banks disagrees, thinking they have initiated no dangerous acts of any kind, and should be understood accordingly.  But as the military of each nation seems to be in charge, the mere presence of these extraterrestrials is sending the world into a frenzy, while the real question is more about humans, asking how are we going to learn to understand “the other” without being afraid and resorting to violence?  This is perhaps the central theme of the film, all part of the learning curve of discovery, as the military reviews any and all progress being made, holding a heavy hand over what happens next.  Over time, Dr. Banks collects what amounts to a working vocabulary, with each message conveying multiple meanings, where she marvels at their originality, claiming “They can write a complex sentence in two seconds.”  But when the military insists she finally ask why are they here, the answer is surprising, “offer weapon,” which ambiguously may have multiple meanings, as Banks feels weapon may also mean tool, while Col. Weber reminds her, “Remember what happened to the aborigines.  A more advanced race nearly wiped them out,” but the aggressiveness associated with the word “weapon” sends military units around the world into heightened paranoia, disconnecting from worldwide communication systems, basically signing off into radio silence, first one nation, but eventually everyone, where no one wants to share what they’ve learned, overwhelmed by a sense of national self-preservation. 

With rogue military units on the loose, Banks’ missions appears to be spiraling out of control, especially after receiving a much larger image with hundreds more symbols, something they had never seen before that leaves them completely bewildered.  Connelly comes up with the idea that maybe each of the twelve sites is communicating only partial messages, which need to be combined to make sense, requiring mutual cooperation if they are to be understood.  Of course, that’s not the way military operations see things, and they uniquely, instead of scientists, have control of the operations, while around the globe their heavy-handed approach is winning out.  Unfortunately, this military angle diminishes the quality of the film, as it reduces the moral dilemma to black and white, good and evil, with the military representing the one-dimensional superficiality of the latter.  This is never a good sign, and might have worked during the surprisingly benign era of Spielberg, where life always seemed to recall the innocence of the Eisenhower era of the 50’s, but in the present day they are too easy a target, with the film placing a bulls-eye on their back, making them the bad guys, including rudely ordering people around, refusing to listen to any other views, and basically being hard-asses.  In an event this extraordinary, requiring as many variant points of view as possible, one would think we could rise to more sophisticated levels than this, where perhaps NASA and their people might be involved, as after all, they have actual experience in space exploration.  While this element doesn’t ruin the film, but it certainly dampens one’s enthusiasm overall, as this amazing discovery and consequent burst of scientific curiosity has the possibility at least of providing so much more elevated material, where the military aspect simply bogs down the exploration of ideas.  Banks, who has flashbacks of her own daughter throughout, as if having visions, suggests the aliens may be able to communicate with her even after she leaves the vessel, or is perhaps suffering unanticipated side-effects, yet it’s all part of the turmoil of the times, where China is on the verge of attack and the military is ending all communications, evacuating the premises, and pulling back from the alien ship.  At that moment, when our future as a planet is at risk, Banks has a breakthrough, discovering “Time isn’t linear to them!”  With that, she understands that her flashbacks are actually flash-forwards, as she’s seeing the future, something only possible through the use of the alien language.  This reassembled concept of how we view time has a beautifully composed final montage filled with miraculous accomplishments and poetic ruminations, where we’re literally able to see inside the soul of Louise Banks, who becomes strangely heroic and vulnerable in the process, becoming an extremely compelling character, something not often associated with scientists in film, but Amy Adams offers the performance of her career, projecting a highly motivated figure who is bold, warmhearted, and resilient, committed to her responsibilities, exuding a maternal sweetness that contrasts with those around her, becoming a moving sci-fi film that explores the future yet searches just as deeply within the hearts of our own humanity.