“I’m sorry. I need you to forgive me.” Dimman (Joel Spira) will regret his request for absolution as it sends him spiralling into the shady underworld of sunny Malta in Axel Petersén’s pure vibes thriller Shame on Dry Land. This scorched, loose-limbed noir might barely hold together, but its surreal, off kilter mood is almost enough to make up the difference.
After ten years away, Dimman literally washes up on the shores of Malta, and finds his way to Fredrik’s (Christopher Wagelin) luxe home where he’s none too pleased to see him. A decade earlier, Dimman pulled the rug out from Fredrik, leaving the company they founded together in the dust and disappearing in a flagrant act of fraud. Now he’s back, seeking a way to make up for his crimes, but Fredrik wants none of it. Living as part of the small, but significant Swedish ex-pat community, he’s rebuilt his life, preparing to get married to Sara (Julia Sporre), and has buried the past. Sent packing, but with nowhere else to go, Dimman winds up being tasked by his shady friend Kiki (Jacqueline Ramel) to follow the even shadier Krumm (Michal Axel Piotrowski) from the Economic Crime Authority who has been seen skulking around town, as it might threaten her even more shady business. Of course, it’s not long until all roads wind up leading back to Fredrik.
Imagine the cigarette brick road of Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye, but less sardonic, and spiked with an enigmatic dream journey of David Lynch and that’s the sensation of tumbling down Shame on Dry Land. Petersén’s script isn’t so much a knot as a number of loops, with Dimman following Krumm only to hit dead ends that turn into trap doors that lead him right back to his man. At first, the instinct will be to pay close attention, to gather clues to unravel the secrets that are waiting to be revealed, until it becomes obvious that Petersén prefers to toy with this audience like a cat with a dead mouse.
Mileage will vary on how much one likes being strung along before answers to the film’s many questions start being answered. Part of the issue is that unlike the aforementioned reference points, that characters aren’t particularly interesting or charismatic to hang onto, the world its operating in not as sufficiently intriguing or strange as the storytelling structure. Combined with Petersén playing withholding, eventually the urge to slump back overrides any desire to lean in. And when you have Baba Stiltz’s chattering, grating, free jazz style score cranked a couple decibels louder than it should be screeching in your ear, it will test even the most patient viewer who want to see how Dimman and Fredrik will get out of the corner they’re backed into.
Once all the answers become clear, scores have been settled, and blood washed away, it turns out Shame On Dry Land is a twisted pretzel of a fairly straightforward narrative. Petersén’s script rides right up to the edge of believability in parallel with its rising tension, and the relief that follows also parallels Dimman and Fredrik finally being able to catch their breath after dodging death and the cops. There’s also, thankfully, a respite from Stiltz’s eardrum obliterating soundtrack, but Petersén isn’t done playing with his audience just yet. The director caps his film with an unbelievably campy cover of Cher’s “Believe,” that in a mischievous wink suggests its happy ending is anything but: “Do you believe in life after love? / I can feel something inside me say / I really don’t think you’re strong enough, no.”
Director: Axel Petersén
Screenplay: Axel Petersén
Cast: Joel Spira, Christopher Wagelin, Julia Sporre, Jacqueline Ramel, Michal Axel Piotrowski, Tommy Nilsson, Erica Muscat, Owen Sciriha
Producers: Sigrid Helleday
Cinematography: Josua Enblom
Production design: Jon Banthorpe
Editing: Robert Krantz
Music: Baba Stiltz
Sound: Andreas Franck, Aleksandar Bundalo
Production companies: Fedra AB (Sweden), Pellikola (Malta), Film Stockholm (Sweden), SVT (Sweden), Strictly Post (Sweden)
World sales: LevelK
Venue: Toronto International Film Festival (Platform)
In Swedish, English, Maltese
91 minutes
