Review: Rams

Rams (15)

Iceland 2015  91 mins  Subtitles  Dir: Grímur Hákonarson  Starring: Sigurður Sigurjónsson, Theodór Júlíusson, Charlotte Bøving, Jon Benonysson, Gunnar Jónsson, Þorleifur Einarsson

A cursory inspection of the synopsis for Iceland’s official entry in the Best Foreign Film category at the Oscars might lead the unwary to anticipate a jolly, crowd-pleasing Ealing-style comedy about a pair of eccentric old codgers who overcome a lifelong feud to take on and defeat the forces of petty officialdom. There’s certainly some gentle feuding sibling comedy here, but the tone is one of melancholic humanism.

Gummi (Sigurður Sigurjónsson) and Kiddi (Theodór Júlíusson) are beardy farmer brothers who haven’t spoken to one another for 40 years. That’s quite a feat for siblings who live side-by-side in a remote secluded valley, where they tend their prized ancestral sheep stock. Gummi’s the calm, thoughtful one, while Kiddi’s a gun-toting, hard-drinking hothead. When communication is unavoidable, they make contact in writing using a trusty sheepdog messenger. The only time these estranged brothers meet is at the annual ram beauty contest. Gummi is naturally delighted to see his magnificent horny chum Garpur bag second prize. But he’s crestfallen when Kiddi’s Sproti shades it as the winner thanks to the impressive thickness of his back muscle. After the competition, Gummi notices something rum about Sproti, which turns out to be the first sign of the fatal, highly infectious brain condition scrapie. Before long, the valley is swarming with government officials, who order that all livestock must be slaughtered. Although compensation is available, this is the last straw for many farmers leading such a marginal existence. Naturally, Kiddi hits the bottle, while the more wily Gummi hatches a plan to save some of his favourite muttony mates.

Students of Icelandic cinema, from Baltasar Kormákur’s 101 Reykjavik to Benedikt Erlingsson’s Of Horses and Men, will be familiar with its penchant for droll, off-kilter humour in harsh yet beautiful landscapes often populated by gnarled, whiskery gents. Grímur Hákonarson’s second narrative feature adds a dash of Aki Kaurisamki and Bent Hamer and benefits from great performances from two of Iceland’s finest, and indeed beardiest, veteran actors. It’s also a captivating portrait of a predominantly male community (“There aren’t many women around,” explains Gummi dryly when asked why he’s never married) where the enduring bond between chap and woolly critter was formed long ago in this “land of ice and fire”. Indeed, at one point we even see Gummi scrubbing his ram in the bath (note: this is not a euphemism). It’s all beautifully photographed by Sturla Brandth Grøvlen and is easily the year’s most moving Nordic ovine holocaust movie, building towards an extraordinary, unexpected, ambiguous climax freighted with meaning.