THE SUNSHINE BOY (ICELAND/2009/FRIÐRIK ÞOR FRIÐRIKSSON)

Margrét Dagmar Ericsdóttir is an Icelandic producer whose son Keli experiences a particularly severe form of autism. Margrét worked with famed Icelandic director Friðrik Þór Friðriksson to create a documentary in which she talked to experts and other parents of autistic children to understand the condition better for herself. Margrét visits professor of animal sciences Dr. Temple Grandin, who stands as living proof that one can achieve goals despite being diagnosed with autism at a young age. Other interviewees explain how they or their relatives have overcome their problems through openly embracing the comforting aspects of sensory stimulation.

What marks The Sunshine Boy apart from other documentaries of a similar nature is that the filmmaker herself has a personal connection to the subject, but chooses to learn through examining others in her position. Essentially, the journey of the film is one of reflection, and it is to Margrét’s credit that we as an audience are never allowed to wallow in pity. The range of experts deal with autism in different ways, some apparently more effective than others, and the suggestion is that a parent could feasibly teach these methods at home to give the child the best opportunities in life. What perhaps doesn’t work so well is the choice of music – the use of Björk’s song Human Behaviour in particular is a little insensitive. Additionally, Kate Winslet’s narration is quite unnecessary – for a documentary about overcoming communication problems, it’s unusual that the investigator should be dubbed by a famous actress.

ROKK Í REYKJAVÍK (ICELAND/1982/FRIĐRIK ÞÓR FRIĐRIKSSON)

Although the title would suggest a wider scope of music, Friðrik Þór Friðriksson’s made-for-TV rockumentary is at heart a vehement tribute to the relatively new insurgence of punk music in Iceland. The film starts with a staged a cappella performance by neopagan chorister Sveinbjörn Beinteinsson, who is brusquely interrupted by the title. Short interviews punctuate explosive performances by various bands who neither receive nor necessitate introduction. The wonderfully wacky world of Icelandic experimental film is also briefly touched upon.

Whether it was intentional or not, Friðriksson has created the perfect musical time capsule here, a fragment of the past preserved purely by its haecceity. These days, Iceland has one of the most influential music scenes in the world, proven by the popularity of international stars such as Sigur Rós, múm and Björk (who appears as a feisty 15-year-old in the film). Consequently, it makes for hilarious viewing to see how homogenised the scene was 25 years ago. When teenage singer Bjarni Þórðarson takes an axe to his... well, axe, in a precocious act of rebellion, it seems to encapsulate the frustration of this compromise of identity. This is reflected in the fashion too: despite all the studded leather jackets and spiky wristbands, almost everyone in the film is wearing at least one item of knitwear. Girls are even seen knitting peacefully at these high-energy gigs. The music may not be to everyone’s tastes, but only the heartless will fail to be absorbed by the raw passion in these musician’s performances.