Rams
written and directed by Grímur Hákonarson
I was expecting a comedy. Clearly I misread the publicity. I was so excited to see a film set in Iceland and support the Icelandic film industry – which seems to be the entire population of Iceland based on the final credits – that I assumed it would be a dark comedy because, well, aren’t all vaguely Nordic films zany and out-of-left-field and quirky, etc, etc, etc? 
Well, there are a couple of comic moments – one involving a bulldozer – but Rams certainly won’t send you out of the cinema chortling with merriment. It will leave you feeling: Oh. Or perhaps: Oh? It’s bleak. Intense. Sad. Poignant. And structurally very clever: the gradual disentanglement, the mirrored actions, the rescues, the journey, the salvation.
Lots of close-ups of the craggy Gummi, (Sigurður Sigurjónsson), one of two bearded Icelandic-jumper-wearing brothers, who lives in an isolated valley in the north of the country and whose whole life is wrapped up in his sheep. Crisis arrives when it’s found that one of the prize rams has a deadly and contagious disease and drastic action must be taken…
Not a still from the movie. Not northern Iceland. Not a valley. And no sheep. But still, it’s Iceland so it’s vaguely relevant (c) WJL 2013
Lots to love. The simple cream-coloured buildings. The tough, all-encompassing rural life. The grumpy brother next door, Kiddi (Theodór Júlíusson), who’s a bit of a bother. Sheep running upstairs. Sheep running up hills. Love those sheep. Like curly rectangles on sticks. Dramatic sweeping shots of the farms, the roads, snowscapes, yes, but snow is not the focus until those sheep take off pursued by the two brothers and a dog into the white… The changing seasons. The Christmas candles. The bath tubs. The beautiful restrained acting to capture the bond between Gummi and his beloved sheep. And an ending that must be said is a tad ABRUPT.
A tender film.
THE END
Every gesture is exquisite, graceful and brimming with neurotic self-control. Her portrayal reaches a state of near perfection. Then there’s Brent Hill as the stumbling, bumbling Seymour who brings a little more evil to his character than I expected (how does he do it?). He makes it all seem so damn easy and that schizophrenic demonic connection between Seymour and Audrey II is a sight to behold. Or rather a sound to hear. Wow.
Scott Johnson is Orin, the semi-sadist (not total sadist, let’s make that clear) dentist, playing it a little kooky rather than as a complete bastard; while Dash Kruck has lots of fun in various pot-plant inspired suits trying to convince Seymour to sign his life away. And of course full credit to the sassy Doo-wop girls, Angelique Cassimatis, Josie Lane and Chloe Zuel for their soul-singing and sashaying as they glide through the chaos unfolding with absolute conviction and a glint in their eyes. Not to mention the geniuses at Erth Visual and Physical Inc. and the magnificent & malevolent Audrey II, a miracle of modern science, technology and, er, I think helium.
statues of david 