I've read way more novels this year than usual (one of the few pluses of this crazy time). And, of late, I've also watched way more movies and TV series. As I mentioned back in November, we finally admitted that there was only a certain number of times we could replay our DVD collection, and coughed up some money for the purposes of broadening our evening entertainment options. In these confined times, it's been a worthwhile exercise in opening additional windows on the world. 

All the photos in this post come from our trip to Iceland in 1989, for reasons that will become apparent at the end.



Some brief notes:

We don't get to see many Polish movies, so Pawel Pawlikowski's Cold War drew our curiosity. It gets great reviews (92% on the Tomatometer). And, indeed, I very much enjoyed the filming (in black and white), and the glimpses of what it was like to work in the arts in the communist period (tough, as the state need for propaganda always tries to take over). But, like this reviewer, I never really bought into the relationship of the lead pair, the ups and downs of which form the backbone of the movie. They're one of these couples who can't bear to be together, and can't bear to be apart. You just want to shake them both, and tell them to talk to each other, and decide what they want. Beautiful, though. Some of those images will definitely stay with me.



Ritesh Batra's The Lunchbox, on the other hand, instantly engages your emotions. I once saw a documentary on the intricate system that delivers lunchboxes to workers all round Mumbai. It's an awe-inspiring system. This movie, however, hinges on what might happen if the system gets two recipients mixed up. Thus it is that Ila's carefully prepared lunchbox (enhanced by hints from her never-seen but always-present neighbour) ends up not with her cold, unloving, duplicitous husband, but with Saajan, a lonely, worked-out widower approaching retirement. They start to correspond.

The ending is left ambiguous. But what we are sure has happened is that Ila has moved towards taking charge of her life again, and Saajan has rediscovered some humanity and zest for life (supporting the hapless Sheikh, for example, who is assigned to him for training as his successor, and deciding to overcome his hesitation, and take the risk of looking for Ila).

Having enjoyed the movie, I appreciated reading this review, this feminist take, and this comprehensive collection of imagined endings.



Donato Carrisi's The Girl in the Fog doesn't get epic reviews, but we liked it. Lots of atmosphere, plenty of twists and turns, an interesting central character (OK, it's yet another policeman with a fatal flaw, but there's something intriguing about him). And it's got Jean Reno, speaking Italian. Which shouldn't be surprising, as Jean Reno is apparently fluent in French, Spanish, Italian, and English.



From the US came The Straight Story by David Lynch. This features a 250-mile journey across Iowa and part of Wisconsin, and would be a classic road-trip tale  -- except that the vehicle of choice for the lead protagonist, 70-something Alvin Straight, is a sit-on lawnmower... When I say "vehicle of choice", I'm not actually rendering the whole reality. Keen to visit his sick brother, from whom he has become estranged, almost blind, very doddery in the joints, stubbornly proud as only old people can be, and situated 30 miles from the nearest bus service, Alvin doesn't actually have that many choices... 

Nothing much actually happens in this movie. The most dramatic incident is Alvin's runaway escapade on a very steep hill, which puts his mower out of action for a while. Otherwise, we follow him as he putters along at five miles an hour, and comes into contact with various people, all with their own sometimes strange stories. But all these encounters tell us more about the man, the ups and downs of his septuagenarian life, and the lessons he has had to learn. (They also tell us more about what it means to age. It's definitely not easy. Yet Alvin has emerged a better man than he used to be, so all hope is not lost...)

It's one of those movies that leaves you feeling better. Humans are brave; they can learn; they can survive awful tragedies; and most of them are essentially good.

And -- whether it's showing us corn-fields, or camp-fires, or just that long, long road -- it's very beautiful.



Our Christmas Day movie was Finding Your Feet, directed by Richard Loncraine. It's a fairly predictable tale (jilted long-time wife recovers her relationship with her sister and her love of dancing, and overcomes her snobbery sufficiently to find a new partner to have adventures with). But the cast list is phenomenal, and there's just enough grit in the story (Alzheimer's, cancer, the whole damn thing about aging...) to stop it being too sweet.



A couple of series, both Nordic, also bear mention. We've now watched a couple of seasons of The Bridge. It's undeniably gripping, and its lead detective, Saga Noren, is a particularly intriguing character as she gives every indication of having Asperger syndrome. (This has never been officially corroborated by the writers, but Sofia Helin, who plays Saga's character, has apparently spoken about it, and people with the condition certainly recognize facets of themselves in that character.)

Enjoyable as it is, there's a luridness that compares unfavourably with that acme of Danish noir, the first series of The Killing. There, the 20-episode format allowed a slow, ever-creepier unravelling of the main case, as well as a detailed exploration of the side-plots (the growing obsessiveness of another female lead detective, Sarah; the emotional impact of the central murder on the victim's family; and the political machinations surrounding a candidate for the office of Copenhagen mayor). By piling up the scenes of deserted buildings, gloomy cellars, and bleak woods and stretches of water, it was highly successful in creating a brooding, menacing atmosphere that stays with you in a way  I don't think any other Nordic crime drama has ever quite managed.



And finally, The Minister, an Icelandic political drama. This was seven  years in the making, and tackles the issue of what happens when a politician is elected as prime minister, and then turns out to have bipolar disorder. It's very cleverly done. At first there are just hints that something is wrong, but what we primarily see is Benedikt's ability to charm the electorate, and to breathe fresh air into the hide-bound politics he finds around him. Increasingly, however, the larger-than-life, boyish figure with the great new ideas becomes an unpredictable liability. Eventually, he comes clean, and resigns the premiership, which is of course the right thing to do (and just WHAT is his media-mogul wife thinking, when she tries to persuade him to cover it all up?).

That resignation speech -- which is very sad after all our high hopes -- marks the end of the first series. But there's plenty of room to develop a second series. Will the Icelandic public warm to Benedikt's honesty, and give him another chance? Or will they be frightened off? In any case, can he continue to have brilliant, fresh ideas if his bipolar condition is damped down by drugs? To what extent is his original success due precisely to that condition?

As well as asking astute questions about mental illness and power, there's another little angle that I found very intriguing. Co-writer Jonas Margeir Ingolfsson sees bipolar disorder as "a great embodiment of the Icelandic nation and the national soul, because we keep going up into a manic episode and down into a depression and back up again". Fascinating.

Another reason to watch this series is the photography. Iceland is beautiful, and it's good to be reminded of that.