Worth: $16.00
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Cast:
Elliott Crosset Hove, Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson, Vic Carmen Sonne, Jacob Hauberg Lohmann
Intro:
… a chilling treatise on how uncaring both halves of its title truly are …
From its Wes Andersonian introduction describing a series of collodion wet plate photographs that purportedly inspired this film’s creation despite not actually existing, director Hlynur Pálmason (A White, White Day) and DP Maria von Hausswolff treat the moving picture here much the same as a still one. Hausswolff’s extensive long takes of the harsh Icelandic landscape capture every movement within the frame, no matter how imperceptible, with each actor framed as if posing for a portrait. Meanwhile, Julius Krebs Damsbo’s editing offers a more jagged take on standard continuity editing, forsaking smoothness for a sharp jolt between images, particularly during the time-lapse sequences.
It’s a harsh approach to the medium that befits a harsh story about harsh environments and circumstances. The story echoes Scorsese’s Silence in its depiction of a priest (Lucas, played by Elliott Crosset Hove) travelling to another country (Iceland circa late 19th century) to spread the gospel and enrich the local flock. While it taps into similar questioning about the ethical and moral ramifications of such missionary work, along with its role in colonialism, Pálmason primarily focuses on the raw logistics of such a task. Lucas doesn’t speak Icelandic, not every local speaks Danish, and the guy who is supposed to help as translator… doesn’t stick around, let’s say.
Along with making for solid cultural conflict drama purely through the dialogue, not to mention the performers reciting it (Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson is positively refulgent as the resident sceptic and guide Ragnar), it also makes for interesting insights into the role of a religious leader. What is a priest if not a supposed translator for the word of God? Of course, such a comparison relies on such gospel needing middle-man translation to begin with, let alone coming from someone essentially invading the flock. As soon as he sets off through the unforgiving Icelandic wilderness, Lucas approaches his role only with his own status in mind; how it pertains to his own spiritual journey, rather than helping others on theirs. Quite an indictment on the ego behind the missionary mindset.
And just as the ‘God’ of the title is shown to be unconcerned with mortal matters, and being sold by those who don’t practice what they literally preach, so too is the ‘Land’. The first half plays out like a survival drama, with Lucas struggling to even make it to the village where the church will be erected, and there’s a lot of animal imagery present in the visuals and the lyrics to Alex Zhang Hungtai’s divine soundtrack. It can get viscerally uncomfortable at times, especially when it goes into the post-mortem stuff, but it all helps anchor the theological story with fervent reminders that, despite all pretences, Man is just another animal. Another part of nature that, no matter the sin, will inevitably return to it.
Godland is a chilling treatise on how uncaring both halves of its title truly are. Its emphasis on stillness can be a bit much to get through at first, but once it really kicks off, it makes scathing remarks on the nature of organised religion, sin and forgiveness, language barriers, and even the things men will do to escape feelings of sexual vulnerability. The efficacy of its theological pessimism will likely vary from viewer to viewer, but there’s no denying the slow-burning intensity with which it is delivered.
