A White, White Day (Hlynur Pálmason, 2019) (Patreon)

The word on the street is true. Hlynur Pálmason's second film is a major leap forward from his already-impressive debut Winter Brothers. That film, which was largely characterized by its tonal strangeness (I called it a social-realist Farrelly brothers production), did not really suggest that Pálmason was going to evolve so quickly into a stark formalist. But almost from the outset, A White, White Day alerts its viewer that conventional characterization and emotion are going to be secondary. Instead, this is a film that privileges containment, and this is primarily communicated by drawing direct attention to its cinematic "container."

After an opening follow shot, whose narrative tension is seamlessly connected with its fading in and out of complete abstraction, A White, White Day focuses on a single camera set-up at a substantial distance from a farm house under reconstruction. Across numerous sequential shots, Pálmason shows us the farm house, from the same position, across different seasons, in different weather conditions, with or without horses or human beings, and under various types of natural light. Of course this is an economical way to display the passage of time, but Pálmason's use of the technique, especially the stationary camera, borrows quite directly from structural cinema. In fact, this is the first time I've seen a narrative film that seems to show the influence of Larry Gottheim (Barn Rushes, Horizons).

But in terms of its overall plan of action, including its avant-garde flourishes, A White, White Day strikes me as one of the first non-German films I've encountered that seems influenced by the Berlin School of filmmakers. (In this case, I especially detected notes of Köhler and Schanelec.) Like those directors, Pálmason avoids overt dramaturgy in favor of concrete, physical images that don't exactly function as symbolism, but nevertheless form objective correlatives to the narrative action. Much has been made, quite rightly, of the scene in which Ingimundur (Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson) clears a small boulder from the road, and we follow its long trajectory downhill and into the sea. But even subtler maneuvers, such as observing how workmen replace solid walls of the farm house with large-paned glass, signal the gradual, enforced opening-up of Ingimunder's psyche.

I will say that this was a film that, for me, became less interesting once its psychological stakes became more obvious. (Basically, from the virtual analyst's appointment onward.) But this is really because Pálmason, and especially Sigurðsson, are so skillful when it comes to repression and slow burn. The sudden bursting of the dam, as it were, was not only a bit unsatisfying, but also felt a bit forced. Imgimunder's scathing rant at his granddaughter Salka (Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir), in particular, felt a bit rehearsed, as though these were coherent feelings he'd been holding back, which is a bit hard to believe.

But this is ultimately a quibble. A White, White Day announces the arrival of a major new talent, which in itself is concerning. After all, what a time to be a young Icelandic auteur hoping to assemble funds for your third feature film, what with the festival circuit practically shuttered and funding bodies sure to be experiencing a significant post-COVID money crunch. So given the treacherous terrain of the moment, it's vital that over the next few years, we keep the flag raised high for Pálmason and make sure his career doesn't fall through the cracks. That would be a terrible loss indeed.