Director Hlynur Pálmason’s background in photography informs all his films, yet nowhere does he put that compositional eye to such exceptional use as in his third feature, Godland. Though his first work set in the past, this is also his most personal, scratching away at the deep-rooted differences between Iceland and Denmark through an invented 19th century story of a young, uptight Danish priest sent to that nation’s then colony, Iceland, to head a church about to be built. Unhurriedly paced and narratively spare, Godland is magisterial in scope, with a richness of imagery and a profundity of character that recalls sprawling literary masterpieces of the period. The film was inexplicably placed in Un certain regard when it clearly belonged in Cannes’ competition section, but it will undoubtedly pick up multiple awards at other festivals and become a much-discussed art house release upon international distribution.
An opening title proclaims that Pálmason’s inspiration for both story and visual design comes from a box of early photographs discovered on Iceland’s south-east coast, but the factual-seeming statement is a ruse, designed to prepare the viewer for a particular 19th century aesthetic based upon the kinds of formally composed, icon-like images deriving from the collodion wet plate process favored in the 1860s. While the film’s visuals convey that kind of gravitas, not just of people but the sweeping, changeable Icelandic landscape seen here in what 19th century poets would call a “terrible grandeur,” there’s no sense of stiffness, and the academy ratio works so well because its frame draws attention to the vast world just outside its vision.
With his stiff posture and forthright gait, Protestant priest Lucas (Elliott Crosset Hove) projects a resoluteness that should stand him in good stead as he prepares to set off from the reserved formality of Denmark for the wilds of Iceland. He’s enjoined to adapt to the people and environment, so different from what he’s used to, and warned that the church he’s meant to oversee must be erected before winter comes. Two things propel him: God and a passion for photography. On arrival he’s accompanied by a small group of men including Ragnar (the always mesmeric Ingvar Sigurðsson) who guide him to his remote destination, but Lucas insists on carrying his heavy camera equipment himself, with their tripod, glass plates, chemicals and portable developing trays, making frequent stops to photograph, for the first time, this part of Iceland’s isolated splendor.
Much of Godland builds on the contrasts between Lucas and Ragnar, one a man of God, the other a man of the earth. That’s a simplistic reduction though: as will be seen, Lucas’ rigidity prevents him from adapting to the land which Ragnar knows so well, from the currents of its icy rivers to the temperament of its unique horses. For Lucas it’s all unforgiving terrain to be photographed and tamed like the souls of those in his charge, whereas Ragnar’s literal earthiness, combining instinct with a deep knowledge of the soil and local legends, makes him fear God but not man.
The team traverse green hillsides where the morning moss is so dew-soaked that water spurts between their toes in one of many spectacular shots that quite literally take the breath away. Once they cross a dangerously swollen river, the scenery changes to rocky hillsides covered in shale that crunch underfoot, where in the distance smoke and rumblings indicate volcanic activity. The vast unpopulated landscapes that Lucas continuously fights against sap him of his strength to such a degree that he’s a shell of a man by the time they finally reach their destination on the south-east coast (Crosset Hove lost 12 kilos, or 26 pounds, during the shooting). Only then do we learn that the hazardous route was his idea: the party could have sailed directly to this spot, but Lucas wanted to photograph the harsh yet magnificent topography, unprepared for the rigors involved.
The film’s second half is set on the property of Carl (Jacob Hauberg Lohmann), a widower farmer with two daughters, Anna (Vic Carmen Sonne, projecting intelligent warmth) and Ida (Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir, the director’s talented daughter). Lucas is more at ease here, partly because the family also speak Danish – Anna was born in Denmark and the younger, precocious Ida is particular adept at switching back and forth between the two languages. They’re also more cultivated than Ragnar, with whom Lucas continues to have a fraught relationship, seeing in him a reminder of his own weakness as well as a symbol of this country which remains an intractable colony of his homeland. In many ways Carl is somewhere between the two, bridging both worlds yet so thoroughly master of his domain that Lucas’ willful resistance to his environment breeds a wariness in the stern farmer, especially when the priest and Anna develop feelings for each other.
Environment is a major determinant of the action but not exclusively so, and the main male characters each have strengths and flaws related to various degrees of moral weakness, which furthers the impression of Godland being inspired by the kinds of epic 19th century novels whose scope encompasses the breadth of human emotion within a localized setting (in the Anglophone world one thinks of Thomas Hardy). Parallels can also be made with Westerns, and the awe-inspiring use of landscape immediately recalls not just classic oaters with morally complex characters but, more recently The Power of the Dog with a hint of Terence Malick and Werner Herzog. Pálmason however avoids that film’s Manichean brooding on good and evil, instead locating unexpected elements within each figure that adds to the overall power, brilliantly on display in a late scene of shocking intensity when the usually reticent Ragnar bursts forth in a lengthy confession punctuated by “pray for me!”
This is the third collaboration between the director and cinematographer Maria von Hausswolff (Winter Brothers, A White, White Day), both clearly inspired by the locations, many of which are in the vicinity of Pálmason’s home. The first half of the film is distinguished by vistas of exceptional beauty, such as a p.o.v. shot through a pup tent looking out at small tarns in the snow-dotted landscape, or a waterfall where the camera moves up and down, capturing its power. In the second part gliding tracking shots traverse a changing geography colored pale lichen and moss, the tonalities shifting with the seasons such as in overhead images of a rotting horse carcass becoming one with the soil. Godland was filmed chronologically over two years; one can only imagine how much exceptional footage editor Julius Krebs Damsbo, also a regular collaborator, had to work with. Sound and music are equally powerful elements in capturing the spirit and potency of the environment.
Director: Hlynur Pálmason
Screenplay: Hlynur Pálmason
Cast: Elliott Crosset Hove, Ingvar Sigurðsson, Vic Carmen Sonne, Jacob Hauberg Lohmann, Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir, Waage Sandø, Hilmar Guðjónsson, Snæbjörg Guðmundsdóttir, Friðrik Hrafn Reynisson, Friðrik Snær Friðriksson, Gunnar Bragi Þorsteinsson, Ingvar Þórðarson
Producers: Katrin Pors, Anton Máni Svansson, Eva Jakobsen, Mikkel Jersin
Co-producers: Didar Domehri, Mimmi Spång, Anthony Muir, Peter Possne, Guðmundur, Arnar Guðmundsson
Cinematography: Maria von Hausswolff
Production designer: Frosti Friðriksson
Costume designer: Nina Grønlund
Editing: Julius Krebs Damsbo
Music: Alex Zhang Hungtai
Sound: Björn Viktorsson, Kristian Selin Eidnes Andersen
Production companies: Snowglobe (Denmark) in collaboration with Join Motion Pictures (Iceland), Maneki Films (France), Garagefilm (Sweden), Film i Väst (Sweden)
World sales: New Europe Film Sales
Venue: Cannes (Un certain regard)
In Icelandic, Danish
142 minutes
