A White, White Day

A seriously strange movie, A White, White Day follows Ingvar Sigurðsson’s Ingimundur as he struggles to cope with a recent loss and the impact his actions have on the various folks around him (including his precocious granddaughter and a couple of concerned cops). Filmmaker Hlynur Pálmason kicks A White, White Day off with a striking opening stretch that effectively establishes the remote environs in which the characters reside, with the movie, past that point, segueing into an oddball, lackadaisical midsection that benefits substantially from Sigurðsson’s stirring performance and cinematographer Maria von Hausswolff’s compelling visuals. And although Pálmason offers up an handful of elements that periodically buoy one’s interest (ie what’s with this investigation that Ingimundur’s launched?), A White, White Day’s meandering atmosphere increasingly proves a test to the viewer’s patience and it does become more and more difficult not to wish that Pálmason would just get on with it already. The movie’s tense, engaging climax ensures that it manages to conclude on a rather positive (and memorable) note, which ultimately does confirm A White, White Day‘s place as an sporadically gripping, decidedly avant-garde portrait of extreme grief.

**1/2 out of ****

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