International Title: Godland — Icelandic Title: Volaða land — Directed by Hlynur Pálmason — Screenplay by Hlynur Pálmason.
Hlynur Pálmason’s Vanskabte Land takes place in the late 19th Century when Iceland was under Danish rule. The film follows a young Danish priest named Lucas (played by Elliott Crosset Hove) who is instructed to travel to Iceland and oversee the establishment of a new parish church in a Danish settlement. In spite of the fact that he has been warned about the harsh weather, the landscape, and the overwhelming temperatures, Lucas decides against merely sailing directly to the Danish settlement, and he, instead, decides to take on an arduous journey across Iceland and witness the country’s wonders and dangers firsthand for the purpose of documenting it with his extremely heavy camera equipment. Lucas, however, has bit off way more than he can chew, as the new overwhelming environment makes him ill-tempered and unprepared to even try to learn the language. When he loses his translator, Lucas is overcome with despair and growing animosity towards his guide, Ragnar (played by Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson), who has a complicated relationship with the Danish language.
Following an initial prologue sequence in Denmark, lines of on-screen text specify that a wooden box was found in Iceland, within which seven wet plate photographies were found. The on-screen text goes on to explain that these photos were supposedly taken by a Danish priest and exist as the very first images of the southeastern coast of Iceland. This brief explanation helps to build some sense of fascination as you watch the film and start to imagine why they were abandoned and whatnot. What Pálmason’s film doesn’t tell you is that this on-screen text story is all made up. Nevertheless, this is an excellent way of setting up the film and its gradual tonal development. Vanskabte Land (Volaða land), or Godland as it is known outside the Nordic countries, is the third feature-length effort from Icelandic director Hlynur Pálmason, who, like his film’s cinematographer Maria von Hausswolff, studied at the National Film School of Denmark. It also may be one of the most gorgeous Nordic films ever made. The look of it is quite astounding. It is presented in a classic 1.33:1 aspect ratio with rounded corners, as the images are boxed in by black squares on either side. In spite of this, I can’t imagine how this film could’ve possibly visualized the harsh beauty of Iceland any better. It absolutely is the kind o film in which every frame is a painting. This presentation helps to make the film feel timeless and like a product that we’re lucky to get in this era of filmmaking.
It is very much an art film. I mean that in the best way possible, but I also think it is fair to say that some people just don’t vibe with this kind of deliberate filmmaking. The first hour of the film takes in the harsh weather and landscape as it presents us with the arduous journey. There are long takes and slow 360-degree pans that help to establish the beauty of Iceland and the unpreparedness of the film’s main character. There is an extensive sequence in which the body of an animal is seen slowly decomposing. This all sounds bleak and demanding, and it is. But I also think it is the most impressive part of the film. It is so well-designed down to each and every inch. Every image feels deliberate, as we see how colonial naivete, stubbornness, and arrogance start to gnaw at the film’s main characters. Since my first viewing of the film, most of the images that have stuck in my mind are the first images of Lucas in Iceland. He trembles on a large boat, as the boat moves violently up and down. You see how it swings back and forth from side to side, and you can almost feel exactly how seasick Lucas is. Moments later he vomits before he has even reached the shore. Then, as he is physically overwhelmed by the weather and the harsh sea, he reaches down to find a minuscule green plant in the darkened wet sand. What a perfect way to symbolize the beauty and the potential amidst the unrelenting harshness. The film remains beautiful throughout, even as it, in some ways, becomes darker and darker.
Pálmason’s film reminded me of a wide variety of things. The work of Werner Herzog, westerns, There Will Be Blood, Apocalypse Now, and, perhaps most of all, Martin Scorsese’s Silence in that it is a film that tests the faith of its main character. It is a film about a man who is unprepared for what he is getting into and who displays colonial arrogance, naivete, and who doesn’t have it within himself to immerse himself in the foreign language, to listen, to see, or to respond in reasonable ways to the harsh nature or the requests of people around him. I believe there is a moment in the film when Lucas remarks that “I don’t have my voice,” as he pleads with God through prayer. It is a fascinating moment in which the film’s main character at once finds himself in that aforementioned crisis of faith but also suddenly and unintentionally gets to the heart of what it must feel like for the colonized people who are having the colonizers’ will forced upon them. I think some scenes might be lost in translation to audiences not familiar with Nordic languages because there are moments where it is outright exasperating whenever Lucas refuses to parse Icelandic words and sounds that are similar to Danish. I am especially fascinated by the relationship shared between Elliott Crosset Hove’s Lucas and Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson’s Ragnar. Lucas is obviously the person showcasing naivete from minute one in Iceland, but Ragnar also has this (mostly understandable) bitterness about Danes in general and a fairly complex relationship with religion itself. Although this is mostly a film that will be remembered for its visuals, its depiction of Iceland, and its patient, slow pans, I should also specify that both Sigurðsson and Hove are outstanding. Sigurðsson has this scowl that is pitch-perfect when it appears and several monologues that pull you in, and Hove nails that tortured portrayal of a man utterly lost.
Hlynur Pálmason’s sure-to-become iconic Nordic epic Vanskabte Land is a jaw-dropping visual feast that examines power dynamics, religion, nature, what (or who) does or doesn’t get to be documented for posterity, and colonial stubbornness through its patient approach to a clash of cultures that here refuse to communicate in a meaningful way in spite of what they have in common. I was deeply fascinated by especially the first hour which really solidifies it as being about this man’s journey to discover a country that changes his relationship with his calling in life — a landscape and weather that makes him question everything he thought he knew as the wildness of nature reaches inside of him and twists his innards. And while the film is still quite good in its second half, I don’t think the events concerning the Danish settlement are quite as fascinating. Nevertheless, it is undoubtedly one of the most impressive non-English films of 2022.
8.5 out of 10
– Review Written by Jeffrey Rex Bertelsen.
I'm Jeffrey Rex 