Hlynur Pálmason's new film combines Nordic restraint with a hefty dose of unmistakable Northern humor. It's a story about the disintegration of a family, a surprising hybrid of emotions and styles: intimate and melancholic, yet simultaneously expansive; incredibly tender, yet simultaneously mocking and slapstick. Pálmason depicts the bardo of life—the state of limbo in which his characters find themselves: a married couple and their three children. Magnus is a sailor on fishing vessels, and Anna is an artist dreaming of a career breakthrough. Each of them tries to piece the family back together, but Magnus feels thrown overboard. For Pálmason, this study of separation offers an opportunity to examine—with irony and tenderness—men adrift, lost, searching for new roles. Navigating between seasons (the film depicts a full year in the life of a family), portraying the harsh landscape of Iceland, and obsessively observing machines, the director flawlessly finds visual equivalents of emotional and existential instability.
The Love That Remains
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