A WHITE, WHITE DAY is a film, like its protagonist (a craggy, mesmerising Ingvar Sigurdsson), utterly consumed by grief. The imposing Icelandic landscape blurs the line between life and death, beauty and bleakness, memory and reality. Little moments of quiet wisdom, like “Kids don’t think about what adults or old people are doing” and fairly frequent black comic beats keeps the film alive and the performances are all excellent, layered and challenging. The film begins with one of the most beautiful time-lapse sequences in ages where we see seasons pass and a vacated dwelling slowly being made habitable once more. From here Ingimundur splits his time between DIY, looking after his granddaughter and investigating the infidelity of his late wife. Aside from the loving devotion to his family he’s not the easiest guy to like, especially with his deplorable actions as an emotional ex-cop later on, but if you treat the film as a dark modern fable it ends up being rather moving, even life-affirming. SSP
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Writer and film fanatic fond of black comedies, sci-fi, animation and films about dysfunctional families.
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