SummaryIn the late nineteenth century, Danish priest Lucas (Elliott Crosset Hove) makes the perilous trek to Iceland’s southeastern coast with the intention of establishing a church. There, the arrogant man of God finds his resolve tested as he confronts the harsh terrain, temptations of the flesh, and the reality of being an intruder in an unf...
SummaryIn the late nineteenth century, Danish priest Lucas (Elliott Crosset Hove) makes the perilous trek to Iceland’s southeastern coast with the intention of establishing a church. There, the arrogant man of God finds his resolve tested as he confronts the harsh terrain, temptations of the flesh, and the reality of being an intruder in an unf...
Austere, emotionally taciturn and with shades of Bergman, Dreyer and Jan Troell’s The New Land about it, Godland is the Icelandic director’s most accomplished work to date.
The film itself is fictional, filmed in a 1.33:1 ratio to mimic the framing of the inspirational photographs. It’s absolutely breathtaking work – the camera helmed by Maria von Hausswolff captures the unassuming beauty of Iceland, but also does not hide its frigid nature, both terrifying and beautiful.
This is a highly original work that goes beyond its theological aspects to explore more universal questions of mankind and our evanescent place in the world.
If that first hour or so is where the film resembles debilitating wilderness trek tales such as Kelly Reichardt’s Meek’s Cutoff or Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo (in both content and quality), the claustrophobic second half is where valid comparisons to something like Shūsaku Endō’s Silence – though especially Martin Scorsese’s 2016 screen adaptation – come to the fore; where colonial arrogance and perceived enlightenment make for combustible mix ready to blow at the slightest provocation.
A two and a half hour Icelandic parable isn’t going to be to every taste. But Pálmason, framing his movie in old still photograph 1.33.1 aspect ratio, immerses us in a place and a time — beautiful, unspoiled and eternal. And he makes us question, as Lucas, Ragnar and others do, the function of faith in such circumstances, and the usefulness of those who insist on proselytizing without listening.
The music energizes this often slow-moving film, even if it isn’t potent enough to bring its protagonist to life. Lucas’s bulky camera has, in its way, as much personality as its owner.
Godland is every bit as striking and otherworldly as you would expect a story inspired by a collection of long-lost wet plate photographs to be. It’s tailor-made for those who enjoy sitting by the window and watching the snow fall, but less so for those who can’t wait for the grit van to come and melt it all away.
Like Martin Scorsese's 'Silence,' 'Godland' — which follows a 19th-century Danish priest traveling to Iceland to build a church — depicts one man's crisis of faith as he wanders through hostile terrain on a mission to spread God's word. Director Hlynur Palmason shows a priest's fight against the most incredible power that exists: that of nature. With stunning photography and almost nightmarishly beautiful vistas, the film emerges as a dark poem that encompasses themes such as colonialism, intransigence, and religion. A tremendous work that makes excellent use of locations to portray the relentlessness of nature and the smallness of man.
What is God? Is it a reasoned, rational civilized entity or a wild, untamed force full of untamed power in search of being reined in? And, in light of that, then, what kind of relationship are we supposed to have with this elusive divine enigma? That’s one of many unexpected challenges put to a young Lutheran priest (Elliott Crosset Hove) who’s charged with building a church in a small community of Danish immigrants transplanted from the homeland in late 19th Century Iceland, the so-called “unforgiving island.” But, rather than sail directly to his new future home, he chooses to land on the island’s southeastern coast and cross the diverse terrain to his destination, partly to get to know the land and its people but also to indulge his hobby as a pioneering photographer. Once there, however, he gets more than he bargained for, given the difficulty of the journey and the many extreme differences in language, sensibilities and rugged lifestyle compared to the more genteel Denmark he left behind. This combination of elements tests his wits, his patience, and, above all, his faith, as events unfold in unforeseen and potentially disturbing ways. It’s an evolutionary journey for which he’s unprepared and often unable to fathom, prompting him to question much of what he believes and how he conducts himself. The result is a thoughtful meditation on these issues, featuring positively stunning cinematography, fine performances and superb production values. The pacing is surprisingly well balanced, too, especially for a film with a 200 runtime, though some of the picture’s montages – as beautiful as they are – probably could have been dialed back somewhat without significantly impacting the finished product. Writer-director Hlynur Pálmason’s fact-inspired tale is arguably his best work to date, but be sure to give this one the time that it deserves to thoroughly appreciate and enjoy it, both for its sheer beauty and for everything it has to say about the divine and the place it occupies in our lives.
Production Company
Snowglobe Films,
Join Motion Pictures,
Maneki Films,
Garagefilm International,
Film i Väst,
Det Danske Filminstitut,
Icelandic Film Center,
L'Aide aux Cinémas du Monde,
Centre national du cinéma et de l'image animée (CNC),
Institut Français,
Svenska Filminstitutet (SFI),
Nordisk Film & TV-Fond,
Danmarks Radio (DR),
Ríkisútvarpið-Sjónvarp (RÚV),
MEDIA Programme of the European Union,
Hornafjörður Municipality,
Samtök sunnlenskra sveitarfélaga (SASS)