Godland
When, in the late nineteenth century, a young Danish priest is sent to Iceland to build a church, he struggles with his faith and his sense of what is real.
Few bad films deserve an award but this one does. From beginning to end it looks magnificent and Maria von Hausswolff’s colour photography justifies the belief that it will be unequalled in any other film this year. But, in contrast to that, when considered as a whole Hlynur Pálmason’s Godland makes a splendid impression for about an hour after which, in attempting to be a work of high art, it goes right off the rails.
This is a period tale concerning a Danish priest, Lucas (Elliott Crosset Hove), who is sent on a mission to Iceland to build a church in a community there. He is also a keen photographer and this tale, set in the late 19th century when Iceland was under the rule of Denmark, is said to have been inspired by a set of seven photographs taken by just such a man which stand as a historic first in that part of the world. Godland was not only directed by Pálmason but was written by him and it follows on from his 2019 feature A White, White Day which, although striking in many ways, was a work that I sometimes found self-indulgent and off- centre. If the first hour or so of this new film seems to fulfil every hope that one had for Pálmason, what follows in the remaining 83 minutes shows up his deficiencies even more than before.
It is no mystery why the first section here is so very much superior to what follows. It introduces us to the two main characters in the story. They are Lucas the priest who has chosen to travel to his destination by a long overland route in order to get to know the country and Ragnar (Ingvar Sigurðsson) who is the leader of the small group who meet him on arrival and will guide his journey. However, this follows after a brief opening scene set in Denmark in which the churchman sending Lucas on this mission emphasises its hazards and refers to volcanic eruptions which cause a massive stink and can drive people out of their minds. One takes that as a pointer to what lies ahead, but what is crucial is the way in which the film captures completely the sense of this remarkable outward journey. Aided not only by the stunning photography but also by the close bond between Pálmason and his editor Julius Krebs Damsbo, the film gives viewers the impression that they are present with the characters and does so to a degree that it is quite exceptional. The initial arrival conveys compellingly the feeling of being on a boat at sea, but the land journey that follows is captured no less vividly.
Thus far Godland looks capable of being a masterpiece although little is happening beyond the journey itself. There is though an opportunity here to contrast Lucas and Ragnar and to speculate on that. Neither speaks the other’s language, but we can tell that Lucas is an inward-looking man pushing himself in the service of God while Ragnar, being used to the harsh environment of Iceland, seems on terms with things as they are. He often sings as he walks and he talks of local tales and is not too disturbed even by one that involves a nightmarish dream. However, one of the rare incidents en route involves a man drowning when crossing a deep river and we note how the responsibility is really that of Lucas who has insisted on pressing on in bad conditions and observe too how he readily treats this death as something to be ascribed to God’s will.
As Godland proceeds it becomes increasingly clear that Pálmason’s film is adopting a critical viewpoint towards both colonialism and religion as portrayed in a situation that links the two together. In theory that offers strong potential for a thought-provoking epic film, but Pálmason’s screenplay proves to be inadequate for the job once Lucas reaches his destination and the plot takes over. Even the scenes of his arrival there fall short when the severe strains of travel mean that he is in a state of collapse and seemingly with impaired memory too. These scenes are confusingly presented (there is a long panning shot followed by underwater images which muddle the transition which is taking place at this point) although it does soon become clear that he has reached the home of a Danish man named Carl (Jacob Lohmani) who has two daughters, Anna (Vic Carmen Sonne) and the younger Ida (Ída Mekkin Hlynsdóttir, the director’s daughter). As is the case with Sigurðsson’s portrayal of Ragnar, these roles are well played, but almost at once it is suggested that Lucas might marry Anna. It could be that there is a shortage of men to provide a suitable bridegroom, but before long Anna seems to genuinely take to Lucas. This seems unconvincing because he is unappealing and his behaviour is distinctly odd (you can put that down either to the journey or to validation of that early reference to people in Iceland being driven mad).
In the event the film spends rather too long on the routines of life in this community before building up to become what feels like a contrived and melodramatic tale centred on misunderstanding and conflict between Lucas and Ragnar. Contrary to initial impressions, the latter seems to want to become a man of God now, but the language barrier builds tensions especially when Ragnar wants his photograph taken and is unable to understand why this is not possible. Yet, despite the length of the film, Pálmason fails to clarify the motivations that drive his characters in sufficient detail and long before the end we come to realise that, while the setting is marvellously caught, the narrative is one in which we don't care at all about the fate of the characters (especially Lucas himself). That’s because the writing has not managed to make them real enough to arouse our concern. Even the issues about colonialism and religion seem present without being investigated in a meaningful and dramatic way. Some late stylised images are stunning in themselves, but the film’s ambitions lead it into pretentiousness which only serves to underline its failure. Only when it comes to the work of the photographer Maria von Hausswolff can one say that failure is unknown.
Original title: Vanskabte land.
MANSEL STIMPSON
Cast: Elliott Crosset Hove, Ingvar Sigurðsson, Viv Carmen Sonne, Jacob Lohmani, Hilmar Guðjónsson, Waage Sandø, Ída Mekkin Hlynsdóttir, Snæbjörg Guðmundsdóttir.
Dir Hlynur Pálmason, Pro Eva Jakobsen, Mikkel Persin, Katrin Pors and Anton Máni Svansson, Screenplay Hlynur Pálmason, Ph Maria von Hausswolff, Pro Des Frosti Friðriksson, Ed Julius Krebs Damsbo, Music Alex Zhang Hungtai, Costumes Nina Grønlund.
Snowglobe Films/Join Motion Pictures/Maneki Films/Garagefilm International/Film i Väst-Curzon.
143 mins. Denmark/Iceland/France/Sweden. 2022. UK Rel: 7 April 2023. Cert. 12A.
