THE LOVE THAT REMAINS

Icelandic director Hlynur Pálmason returns to the present after his superb epic Godland. With The Love that Remains, he crafts a smaller, more intimate story—one that suggests some still-tender autobiographical resonance—and he’s not afraid to get a little weird with it. The film is a snapshot of a year in the life of a married couple, Anna and Magnús, and their three precocious kids—played by Pálmason’s own brood—as they navigate their separation. What could have easily been a bitter domestic drama is instead playful and wryly funny, full of surreal episodes that puncture the coziness. Anna and Magnús are mostly convivial, and free to embark on their separate lives; he’s a commercial fisherman, often away on excursions at sea, and she’s an artist who collaborates with the elements to create large-scale, rust-covered canvases. And the domestic setting remains loving and enriching for all, even with the fresh fracture down the middle. Instead of defaulting to testy recriminations, Pálmason lets his sight gags and whimsical asides—a giant vengeful rooster, a straw knight come to life, an archery mishap, a light aircraft plunging into the ocean—do the talking. In its own peculiar way, the film conveys the disorientation of a relationship’s end: the world keeps turning, but it feels like it’s off its axis. ~OO