Woman at War

How does an Icelandic choir conductor become a No. 1 wanted criminal by taking down an aluminium plant using nothing but a bow and arrow, several buckets of flowers and a car full of chicken shit? Hop on board and find out!

To claim that Halldóra Geirharðsdóttir’s performance as environmental warrior Halla is pretty good would be like saying that Iceland’s highlands are kind-of-nice to look at – she wields the story like a weapon, enmeshing you in her struggle to single-handedly tackle a greedy mining conglomerate all whilst struggling to adopt. As if her emotional range and physical acting weren’t already enough to put most budding thespians out of commission, Halldóra plays twins, the one our favourite down-to-earth music teacher and eco vigilante, the other her aggressive swimmer and yoga guru sister Ása.

Let’s take a minute to talk about the band. The beautiful, ridiculous, meta band that generate the soundtrack yet also actually appear in the film and follow Halla from scene to scene like omnipresent prophets with yellow mohawks and blonde beards, trying to outdo one ridiculous location to play their drums, accordion and sousaphone after another - from mountaintop to a rooftop to Halla’s bedroom and later waist-deep in a flooded Ukrainian road. They bring the much-needed mirth and mischief during the dark scenes and add foreboding notes to the comedic moments, offering the perfect tonal counterweight to this pitch-black comedy. They are later joined by a trio of Ukrainian folk singers, dressed in traditional garb who, along with the band, walk the fine line between narrators and participants of the story, occasionally breaking the fourth wall, seemingly just for the hell of it to change the channel on Halla’s TV set, light a cigarette or retweet her environmental manifesto.

In true Scandi form, you get wit dryer than a book about droughts found in the desert, from our beloved characters placing their smartphones in the freezer to prevent themselves from being overheard, to Halla using a dead sheep as cover from thermal imaging drones, this flick is full to its knitted collar with morbid humour and caustic gags.

The movie is ponderous without having to whack you over the head with its morality. Yes, it’s loudly and proudly a satire and lewd dissection of the devastating impact humans are having upon our planet, but it leaves you to extract what you want from its yarn, casting its heroine simultaneously as saint and terrorist, and bringing enough chuckles and surreal snapshots to the table that it manages to neither clobber you over the head with preachiness nor downplay our casual annihilation of the world’s delicate ecosystems.

Woman at War is utterly glorious, with Benedikt Erlingsson’s direction offering an intimacy, playfulness and slick comedic timing all too sadly missing from cinema, whilst Bergsteinn Björgúlfsson’s cinematography gifts us with enough stunning landscapes to make National Geographic’s top photographers blush and gaze down in shame at their walking boots.

Takk Iceland for this electric and eclectic indie darling.

9/10