The country has no trees. It's dark most of the time, and the winters are the bleakest on Earth. Iceland also has a cradle-to-grave social welfare system, so it's not surprising that life might be a little off the beaten path there. It's the sort of spot where you might find that you're up all night watching porn on the dish, guzzling beer and collecting the dole. Certainly, Reykjavik, Iceland's capital (for those who have never been east of Doheny Drive), is a hotbed for berserk behavior, and "101 Reykjavik" is balmy, straightforwardly off-the-wall entertainment that's likely to unsettle as many viewers as it will satisfy.
It's a smartly ragged, knockabout movie that might stoke some bright glimmers in big-city art houses. A distributor could cadge some easy kroner by screening "Reykjavik" in such sophisticated moviegoing cities as Seattle or Minneapolis, which have strong Scandinavian population bases. As founder-president of Norwegian in Film, this reviewer can attest that "Reykjavik" is the sort of subversive smorgasbord that will delight peculiar, strong-stomach tastes.
A Scandinavian slacker of the heartiest proof, Hlynur (Hilmir Snaer Gudnason) makes it a point to get up every day by noon, when he begins his Internet quest for stimulation. Still living with his mother at age 28, Hlynur is not exactly connected to the real world. But one can hardly blame him because, outside his door-step, it's perpetually dreary and freezing. Other than a jaunt down to the local pub -- where he gets snockered every weekend with his buddies and beds whichever female is the most inebriated -- Hlynur doesn't do a lot. And he makes no bones about his lethargy.
Nevertheless, his juices get warmed when his mother decides to take up flamenco dancing and, most incredibly, invites her Spanish instructress to share their tiny abode for a few weeks. Befitting Hlynur's most lurid expectations about flamenco dancers from Spain, Lola (Victoria Abril) is indeed a sizzler. Although she's initially puzzled by Hlynur's shiftless ways, he represents a challenge for her -- namely, how can she change him? Not surprisingly, like most men, Hlynur doesn't want to be changed. He just wants to get laid, especially because Lola flounces around the tiny apartment in the most inspirational states of undress. One fortuitous New Year's weekend when his mother is out of town, the fireworks go off, and with his genitals as a compass, Hlynur finally finds he is pointed in a direction.
Bombarded with some loopy snatches of the Kinks' classic rocker "Lola", "Reykjavik" staggers through some harrowingly funny social and sexual debris. No one is going to compare screenwriter-director Baltasar Kormakur with Ingmar Bergman or any of the dour old grimsters of Scandinavian cinema. Unlike the deep-think drekk that characterizes too much of Scandinavian film, this odd opus is not burdened with long silences, dialogues with God or self-absorbed depression. Rather, it's glutted with blaring music, conversations with louts and life-affirming acts of moral turpitude. To boot, it's jammed with some of the darkest Oedipal story slices under the northern lights.
In its stumble-through spirit, "Reykjavik" is more akin to Spanish cinema, namely Pedro Almodovar, than what one would expect from Scandinavia. Despite its wickedly funny nature, the story intermittently falls facedown in the heap of its mordant meandering. Yet it always manages to wobble back fast, courtesy of its bizarre textures and outlandish yarn-spinning.
With a robust array of performers who are wonderfully more like character actors than stars, "Reykjavik" bounds along with some deft, edgy performances. As the central slacker, Gudnason is appealingly aimless, while Abril is tantalizing as the dancer of his dreams. As Hlynur's beleaguered mother, Hanna Maria Karlsdottir is appropriately distracted and agitated.
A round of Aquavit to filmmaker Kormakur and his wonderfully warped crew for their idiosyncratic visualization of this strange life-scape. Special praise to cinematographer Peter Steuger for the film's splendidly smudgy look.
101 REYKJAVIK
101 Ltd.
in cooperation with Zentropa Prods., Denmark; Filmhuset, Norway; Liberator, France;
Troika Entertainment, Germany
Supported by the Icelandic Film Fund,
Eurimages, NRW, Nordrhein Westfalen
Producers: Ingvar Thordarson, Baltasar Kormakur
Director-screenwriter: Baltasar Kormakur
Based on the novel "101 Reykjavik" by: Hallgrimur Helgason
Co-producers: Peter Aalbaek Jensen, Egil Odegaard, Marianne Slot, Christian Vizi, Michael P. Aust
Director of photography: Peter Steuger
Production designer: Arni Pall Johannsson
Line producers: Lisa Kristjansdottir, Magnus Vidar Sigurdsson
Costume designers: Thorunn Sveinsdottir, Sigridur Gudjonsdottir
Hair and makeup designer: Asta Hafthorsdottir
Sound designer: Kjartan Kjartansson
Color/stereo
Cast:
Hlynur: Hilmir Snaer Gudnason
Lola Milagros: Victoria Abril
Berglind: Hanna Maria Karlsdottir
Hofi: Thrudur Vihjalmdottir
Running time -- 93 minutes
No MPAA rating...
It's a smartly ragged, knockabout movie that might stoke some bright glimmers in big-city art houses. A distributor could cadge some easy kroner by screening "Reykjavik" in such sophisticated moviegoing cities as Seattle or Minneapolis, which have strong Scandinavian population bases. As founder-president of Norwegian in Film, this reviewer can attest that "Reykjavik" is the sort of subversive smorgasbord that will delight peculiar, strong-stomach tastes.
A Scandinavian slacker of the heartiest proof, Hlynur (Hilmir Snaer Gudnason) makes it a point to get up every day by noon, when he begins his Internet quest for stimulation. Still living with his mother at age 28, Hlynur is not exactly connected to the real world. But one can hardly blame him because, outside his door-step, it's perpetually dreary and freezing. Other than a jaunt down to the local pub -- where he gets snockered every weekend with his buddies and beds whichever female is the most inebriated -- Hlynur doesn't do a lot. And he makes no bones about his lethargy.
Nevertheless, his juices get warmed when his mother decides to take up flamenco dancing and, most incredibly, invites her Spanish instructress to share their tiny abode for a few weeks. Befitting Hlynur's most lurid expectations about flamenco dancers from Spain, Lola (Victoria Abril) is indeed a sizzler. Although she's initially puzzled by Hlynur's shiftless ways, he represents a challenge for her -- namely, how can she change him? Not surprisingly, like most men, Hlynur doesn't want to be changed. He just wants to get laid, especially because Lola flounces around the tiny apartment in the most inspirational states of undress. One fortuitous New Year's weekend when his mother is out of town, the fireworks go off, and with his genitals as a compass, Hlynur finally finds he is pointed in a direction.
Bombarded with some loopy snatches of the Kinks' classic rocker "Lola", "Reykjavik" staggers through some harrowingly funny social and sexual debris. No one is going to compare screenwriter-director Baltasar Kormakur with Ingmar Bergman or any of the dour old grimsters of Scandinavian cinema. Unlike the deep-think drekk that characterizes too much of Scandinavian film, this odd opus is not burdened with long silences, dialogues with God or self-absorbed depression. Rather, it's glutted with blaring music, conversations with louts and life-affirming acts of moral turpitude. To boot, it's jammed with some of the darkest Oedipal story slices under the northern lights.
In its stumble-through spirit, "Reykjavik" is more akin to Spanish cinema, namely Pedro Almodovar, than what one would expect from Scandinavia. Despite its wickedly funny nature, the story intermittently falls facedown in the heap of its mordant meandering. Yet it always manages to wobble back fast, courtesy of its bizarre textures and outlandish yarn-spinning.
With a robust array of performers who are wonderfully more like character actors than stars, "Reykjavik" bounds along with some deft, edgy performances. As the central slacker, Gudnason is appealingly aimless, while Abril is tantalizing as the dancer of his dreams. As Hlynur's beleaguered mother, Hanna Maria Karlsdottir is appropriately distracted and agitated.
A round of Aquavit to filmmaker Kormakur and his wonderfully warped crew for their idiosyncratic visualization of this strange life-scape. Special praise to cinematographer Peter Steuger for the film's splendidly smudgy look.
101 REYKJAVIK
101 Ltd.
in cooperation with Zentropa Prods., Denmark; Filmhuset, Norway; Liberator, France;
Troika Entertainment, Germany
Supported by the Icelandic Film Fund,
Eurimages, NRW, Nordrhein Westfalen
Producers: Ingvar Thordarson, Baltasar Kormakur
Director-screenwriter: Baltasar Kormakur
Based on the novel "101 Reykjavik" by: Hallgrimur Helgason
Co-producers: Peter Aalbaek Jensen, Egil Odegaard, Marianne Slot, Christian Vizi, Michael P. Aust
Director of photography: Peter Steuger
Production designer: Arni Pall Johannsson
Line producers: Lisa Kristjansdottir, Magnus Vidar Sigurdsson
Costume designers: Thorunn Sveinsdottir, Sigridur Gudjonsdottir
Hair and makeup designer: Asta Hafthorsdottir
Sound designer: Kjartan Kjartansson
Color/stereo
Cast:
Hlynur: Hilmir Snaer Gudnason
Lola Milagros: Victoria Abril
Berglind: Hanna Maria Karlsdottir
Hofi: Thrudur Vihjalmdottir
Running time -- 93 minutes
No MPAA rating...
- 1/26/2001
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
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