Reykjavík Grapevine - 28.08.2015, Qupperneq 36

In ‘Albatross’, that man is Tommi (Ævar
Örn Jóhannsson), who follows his girl-
friend up to the Westfjords for a summer
prior to beginning a university course
he's not passionate about. He soon finds
himself dumped and directionless, kill-
ing time stone dead with his even less
ambitious co-workers, while dodging
the question of what, if anything, comes
next. The film could be described as
‘Á annan veg’, except on a golf course
rather than the side of the road. ‘Paris of
the North’, except in Bolungarvík instead
of Flateyri.
Indeed, one of the most distinctive
aspects of ‘Albatross’ is that it’s an Ice-
landic film made without the support of
the Icelandic Film Centre.
‘Albatross’ was financed indepen-
dently, with postproduction money com-
ing via the Karolina Fund crowdfunding
site. This is a model that has already
funded successful and ambitious proj-
ects by fairly major names elsewhere
in the Icelandic arts community. So,
as professional-quality photographic
equipment becomes more and more ac-
cessible (or, if you prefer, as cinemago-
ing audiences’ standards of professional
quality are diluted further and further by
the use of digital technologies not far re-
moved from everyday life...), and espe-
cially given the relatively modest scope
of the Icelandic early midlife/late quar-
terlife crisis movie (provincial location
shoot, small cast, few if any effects), it's
not unreasonable to predict the emer-
gence of an Icelandic microcinema to
recall parallel movements abroad, such
as the American “mumblecore” of the
aughts.
This can only be helpful in providing
opportunities for emerging new talent,
and supporting the sorts of stories—
modest in scale, intimate in tone—which
have been the historic terrain of indie
filmmakers the world over. Much recent
talk about the Icelandic Film Centre has
focused on the lagging gender diversity
within the established domestic film in-
dustry—recall the recent Guerilla Girls
billboard citing the shameful histori-
cal statistics, and Baltasar Kormákur's
call for more progressive quotas in the
awarding of grants. Because of its fund-
ing model, ‘Albatross’ is, paradoxically,
a step towards a more diverse Icelandic
cinema—and perhaps not even para-
doxically, if you keep in mind that stories
about straight cis white dudes with more
self-awareness than self-confidence are
no more or less “personal” than any oth-
er stories.
In any case, ‘Albatross’ is an affable
variation on that theme. It takes place al-
most entirely around a golf course, and
unfolds with the laid-back, boys-club
rhythms of nine holes and a beer in the
clubhouse afterwards. Writer-director
Snævar makes plenty of space simply
for scenes of Tommi bro-ing out with his
maintenance crew co-workers, riffing
on toilet paper technique and regional
slang with sun-hatted “master baiter”
Kiddi (Gunnar Kristinsson, an affectingly
raw-boned Paddy Considine lookalike)
and Finni (Finnbogi Dagur Sigurðsson),
a lover of muscle cars and food products
from mustard (for biscuits) to vegetable
oil (for tanning).
Such dramatic tension as ‘Albatross’
possesses comes from course owner
Kjartan's (Pálmi Gestsson) determina-
tion to host a tournament usually held by
those assholes in Ísafjörður; rather than
achieve closure over his relationship or
clarity about his life plan, Tommi throws
himself into debates over which fertil-
izer to use, and whether or not to mow
a driving range taken up for nesting by
arctic terns who know their 60s Hitch-
cock.
Such objectively tiny matters, which
take on life-or-death importance to
their participants, make, in ‘Albatross’,
a stealthily moving dramatization of
circumscribed small-town life: as the
film progresses, it becomes rather clear
that its characters have chosen tunnel-
visioned eccentricity over huge gaping
sadness. If ‘Albatross’ is ultimately a
modest addition to the dude-fighting-
his-inertia genre, it's all the more like-
able, earnest and grounded for it.
Money well spent.
Snævar Sölvason's independent film ‘Albatross’ sits squarely within what's sometimes jok-
ingly referred to as Iceland's signature cinematic genre: ninety minutes or so in the company
of a man running in place.
Photo
Stills courtesy of Flugbeittur Kuti
Words
Mark Asch
New Look, Same
Great Taste
Crowdfunded Icelandic film ‘Albatross’ tells
a familiar story, with an off-screen twist
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