Review by Eric Hillis
Directed by: Hlynur Pálmason
Starring: Saga Garðarsdóttir, Sverrir Gudnason, Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir, Þorgils Hlynsson, Grímur Hlynsson
There's a devilish moment in The Love That Remains in which a cute scene of children playing with some adorable chicks abruptly cuts to a shot of chicken thighs grilling on a barbecue. It might be read as a cruel joke, but Hlynur Pálmason hasn't made a cruel film. This isn't a cheap edgelord provocation but rather a distillation of the film's central notion that everything has its time, and everything good must come to an end at some point.
That end has arrived for married couple Anna (Saga Gardarsdottir) and Magnus (Sverrir Gudnason). The latter has recently moved out of the family's small farm, and Anna is enjoying the breathing room created by his absence. She's a struggling artist, but by painting with rust she is creating something from decay. Anna is moving on but Magnus is stuck in a rut. He continues to call around on the proviso of seeing his children, but he seems more interested in getting into Anna's occasionally willing pants. Magnus appears a classic case of a boy who married a woman who believed she was marrying a man.
The Love That Remains plays out over the course of roughly a year and is loosely broken down into a series of vignettes. Some of these chapters detail the minutiae of everyday life, with much attention given to the creation of Anna's art, Magnus's role as a fisherman, and the workings of a small farm. There also surrealistic dream sequences, though it's not always clear whose dreams we are witnessing. Harry Hunt's piano tinklings on the soundtrack give it the relaxed vibe of a Peanuts special.
A stark departure from the sombreness of Pálmason's previous films, the dark thriller A White, White Day and the period drama Godland, The Love That Remains is closer in tone to the recent work of Joachim Trier. It is filled with blackly comic asides, like Anna imagining an obnoxious Swedish art dealer dying in a plane crash and the inevitable bloody result of some childhood horseplay with a bow and arrow. Some scenes are stolen by the doggy improv of Anna's sheepdog Panda, a worthy winner of 2025's "Palm Dog" award at Cannes. We laugh both with and at the characters here, and they laugh with and at each other. Much of the humour comes from the mature observations of Anna and Magnus's three children (played by the director's own kids) regarding their parents' lack of maturity ("an overly emotional artist" is how Anna is described by her daughter).
Shot on 35mm, the grain of which perfectly captures the rugged Icelandic landscape, The Love That Remains is a striking promo for the country's tourist board. You can almost breath in the clean air, taste the delectable mushrooms picked by Anna, and you feel yourself getting healthier while watching Pálmason's drama. It is a brisk walk of a film.
If the central divorce drama feels underserved, that may well be the point here. There are none of the emotional exchanges you expect from this storyline, rather an empowering contentment on the part of Anna and a sad resignation from Magnus. It's clear that whatever loving relationship they might have had in the past, to which their three children are testament, Anna and Magnus no longer belong together. One day you're frolicking in hay, the next you're being cooked on a grill. It's a commendably mature and very Nordic worldview.
The Love That Remains is in UK/ROI cinemas from March 13th.
