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.

HARPOON: REYKJAVÍK WHALE WATCHING MASSACRE (ICELAND/2009/JÚLÍUS KEMP)

As if economic collapse and the untimely eruption of Eyjafallajökull weren’t enough, Iceland is now receiving mixed attention for their first contribution to the torture porn genre. Featuring something of an alternative ‘all-star’ cast – Gunnar Hansen of Leatherface fame, Nae from Inland Empire, an extra from The Bill – Harpoon: Reykjavík Whale Watching Massacre takes place aboard a whaling ship, where a dozen international tourists are hoping to see the giant creatures in their natural habitat. But when the ship’s captain mysteriously dies, it is up to a spooky lank-haired individual to come to the rescue. At his suggestion, the passengers relocate to his family’s rickety old ship, little knowing that this is to put them in further danger.

From the film’s subtitle alone, it is clear that director Júlíus Kemp was planning to take more than just Gunnar Hansen from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Despite some superb photography of the Icelandic landscape, Harpoon is no different from any other slasher flick. Its top priority appears to be reminding its audience that the film is Icelandic – we hear references to Sigur Rós, a passenger singing Björk over the intercom, an older woman translating insults into Icelandic. Additionally, the film’s light-hearted attempt to show a cross-section of international holiday-makers actually ends up insultingly simplistic, as seen in Hostel. But in all fairness, Kemp was never going for the Oscar, and all things considered, the film is quite a fun little jaunt with enough blood and guts to keep your average gore-whore entertained.

HLEMMUR (ICELAND/2002/ÓLAFUR SVEINSSON)

Hlemmur is the name of the main bus terminal in Reykjavík, and forms the stage for this brief documentary. The subjects, a group of down-on-their-luck homeless men who treat the station as their home, are allowed to speak for themselves, the camera rarely acknowledged. Many of the men share in common a love-hate relationship with alcohol, a clear catalyst to their emotional and physical deterioration. One supposedly reformed character chuckles as he recalls his dramatic weight loss during a particularly bad drinking binge, while another man in his fifties blames poor healthcare programmes for his severe depression. The film is bound together with clips of the city at different points in the day.

Watching it in the climate of the ongoing recession, in which Iceland has suffered huge economic collapse, Hlemmur feels oddly premonitory. Placing focus on Iceland’s have-nots, the film paints a gritty, unglamorous picture of urban Reykjavík with no aspirations to pay further into the otherworldly image of the country often portrayed in the arts. Hlemmur’s biggest appeal is undoubtedly its delicate soundtrack, written and performed by Sigur Rós. Their involvement with the film has seen the DVD become a coveted collector’s item alongside a book of the band’s sketches, but the film and music scarcely harmonise and work best independent of each other. Although patchy and often light-handed on commentary, Hlemmur does its best to never contrive facts or events, and thus succeeds as an emotive vérité documentary, giving voice to those whom society has brushed away.

WHEN THE RAVEN FLIES (ICELAND/1984/HRAFN GUNNLAUGSSON)

Set in medieval Iceland, When The Raven Flies follows the life of a man known only as Gestur (“guest”) as he seeks revenge on the people who wronged him. The story begins in Ireland where a young Gestur’s parents are murdered by invading Vikings. Though Gestur himself is spared, his sister is abducted, setting him off on a lifelong search to find her again. Travelling as an adult to Iceland, he begins his plot to destroy the Vikings by turning their gangs against each other, discreetly killing off members of one gang and framing members of the other. Thord, the Viking leader who had choreographed much of the Irish invasion many years before, is revealed to have taken Gestur’s sister as a wife, who is now largely distrustful of her estranged brother.

Although evidently pro –Christian (the ‘good’ characters openly identify as such), the film does make a valid point about religion and violence being irrevocably intertwined, and the conclusion is not a particularly positive one, suggesting the cyclical nature of revenge. Good use is made of Iceland’s ageless scenery, the volcanic blacks and forested greens forming a suitably melodramatic backdrop for this Shakespearean curio. Gestur makes an interesting hero – a stealthy, amoral outsider in the vein of Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo. The soundtrack is a somewhat peculiar mélange of fluttering panpipes and resonant electronic drums, evoking anything but 10^th-century Iceland. It might not be the most gripping revenge story, but When The Raven Flies still makes for a noteworthy watch.

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.