A White, White Day

On a white, white day, when you can’t distinguish the sky from the ground, the dead can speak to speak to the living, or so says an Icelandic saying. That’s the sort of day it is when Ingimundur’s wife dies, careening into an abyss in a speeding car. The widowed police officer tries to start all over again: he looks after his granddaughter, finishes a house for his daughter, goes to therapy. One day, however, his wife speaks to him. He accidentally tells her a secret, which, for the first time in a long time, arouses strong emotions in him. When the dam of feigned calm breaks, nothing can stop the violence. With his second film, the director of the unforgettable, extravagant Winter Brothers confirms that he is one of Scandinavia’s most talented young artists. More mature, formally cool and distanced, all the while seething with suppressed emotions, A White, White Day is a penetrating insight into our struggles with grief and, at the same time, an engaging film about retribution. The lead actor, Ingvar E. Sigurðsson, gives a convincing performance as a widower living in a trap of the past and slowly slipping into obsession. He justly deserved the jury award he received during Critics’ Week at Cannes.