In the Lighthouse cinema, the film opens with a quote: “On such days when everything is white, and there is no longer any difference between the earth and the sky, then the dead can talk to us who still are living.” This was disconcerting to read as I dislike horror films but judging by this, the bleak poster and the repetition of “white” in the title, it became apparent that I had walked into one.
Expecting the worst, I found the initial scenes distressing. These included frames of a man throwing a fish at a child, the child beating this fish on a table, laughing and children breaking up ice with knives and hammers before a firework goes off. It soon becomes clear that I share the same sense of dread as the protagonist, Ingimundur, played by Ingvar Sigurðsson, who is an off-duty police chief mourning after the recent death of his wife.
Despite the dense air of menace, the film cannot strictly be classified as a horror as writer and director Hlynur Pálmason amalgamates psychological thriller, revenge tragedy and absurdist dark comedy into a Nordic noir. It is this year’s masterpiece, second only to Parasite. The plot is a slow burn but steady and direct – the self-destructive detective sublimates his inner torment into a thirst for vengeance, obsessively searching for answers while suspecting a local man of having had an affair with his wife.
Ingimundur’s isolation is emphasised by the stark Icelandic landscape as overlooking horses and the immense visual of the rough arctic sea consistently lurks in the background. Each of Sigurðsson’s subtle facial movements assert force, portraying a sleep deprived maniac and a cosy grandpa at varying moments. Our appreciation of his softer side is aided by the company of his hilarious granddaughter-sidekick, Salka, played by Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir.
The dialogue is powerful and to the point. The contrasting use of sound is similarly powerful from a scene where sounds of the television, telephone and hammering become unbearably frightening to the delicate classical soundtrack from British Composer, Edmund Finnis. The cinematography both places you in situ and has an omnipresence that flows within Ingimundur’s agonised consciousness with still images that include powerful character portraits and seaweed festooned car wheels.
Pálmason teases the audience with classical allusions to heighten their understanding of Ingimundur’s internal and seemingly eternal entrapment. For instance, Sisyphus’ boulder mythically lands in the middle of the road whilst he’s driving or when Salka asks him to tell her a scary story, he savagely tells her a terrifying one involving a rotting corpse not having a liver that equates Ingimundur’s plight with that of Prometheus.
A White, White Day only made $198,998 at the box office, making it a tragically hidden gem. It is a must-watch for those of us susceptible to worry as Pálmason magnificently illuminates the absurdity of dread and the beauty of fragility.
A White, White Day screened for 2 weeks in the IFI cinemas during the month of September, and is now available to rent and stream on IFI@Home.
