It’s the premise of either a weird comedy or outright horror, generally speaking, but the engine that really drives Valdimar Jóhannsson‘s feature-length directorial debut, Lamb, is one centered more in the realm of fables, wrapped up in the isolation of the Icelandic countryside.
On its face, Lamb is really more about parenthood, or maybe even more specifically motherhood. Maria (Noomi Rapace, employing fluent Icelandic here) and Ingvar (Hilmir Snær Guðnason) are a hard-working farming couple out in the middle of nowhere. Their biggest pre-occupation, other than having weird conversations about time travel (big time relate here!) is raising their huge array of sheep, and ensuring they continue to reproduce successfully. One day, to their surprise, one of the sheep gives birth to a half sheep/half human hybrid. While most people would probably not do what Maria and Ingvar decide to do is my guess, they opt to begin to raise this medical oddity as if it was their own child.
This decision, as one can imagine, has a big impact on their future, particularly as it deals with their unresolved relationship with Ingvar’s wayward brother Petur (Björn Hlynur Haraldsson) and gives way for the audience to learn more about their tragic backstory that leads to some of the decisions they make in the here and now. Though, of course, far darker elements are also at play, and waiting in the wings.
Lamb is a fascinating first effort, both somewhat storybook in its three chapter approach – neatly dividing up the acts, really – as well as its ongoing veneer of dread that could basically be cut with a knife. The latter feels a bit like a miscalculation, and were one to argue of the idea of a “A24 house-style” this could definitely be a poster child for it. But putting aside that errant approach in coloring and style, and you’ll find a film that is both captivating and filled to the brim with pathos. It’s difficult not to get wrapped up in the central relationships here, particularly watching the humanity of their adopted daughter come further to the fore. There’s an especially good stretch where the exceedingly dubious and concerned Petur firmly falls into his role as the child’s uncle, and we get a chance to learn more about what’s divided the adult trio only so many years prior.
And sadly, heartbreak comes often, particularly anything involving the child’s actual parentage rears its head.
Lamb is a compact experience, and very much the kind that you’ll wonder where the time went once the credits roll. Sure, the cgi and other budget cutting measures occasionally distract, and the score is just a tad too heavy and leaning on the unnecessary horror aspects, but its imagery (provided by DP Eli Arenson) is so striking, and its core conceit pulls on such universalist themes, that its an effort that lingers in the memory, particularly its final shots.
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