Cast: Baltasar Kormákur, Gísli Halldórsson, Sigurveig Jónsdóttir
Director: Fridrik Thor Fridriksson
Producers: Fridrik Thor Fridriksson, Peter Rommel, Egil Ödegaard, Peter Aalbćk Jensen
Screenplay: Einar Kárason
Cinematography: Ari Kristinsson
Music: Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson
In Icelandic with subtitles
Since 1996's release of Cold Fever, Fredrik Thor Fridriksson is no longer Iceland's best-kept secret. His first English-language film, which featured an international cast (including former independent queen Lili Taylor, who has since lost her title to Parker Posey), a spectacular setting, and an effective mix of comedy and drama, informed the world that Iceland, despite claiming more sheep than people, has a film industry. In Devil's Island, Fridriksson's latest, the director takes a time trip to his native land during the 1950s.
In some ways, Devil's Island is like another Fridriksson film, Movie Days. Both offer glimpses through windows into the past and each emphasizes one of the film maker's recurring themes: the pervasive influence of American culture on Icelandic society. In Movie Days, Fridriksson showed how, in 1964, every child in the country was addicted to American music, movies, and television. Going ten more years into the past for Devil's Island, he shows that things weren't much different in post-war Iceland, where the Americans had just abandoned their military base of Camp Thule.
After the departure of the U.S. military, the abandoned base, located in Iceland's largest city, Reykjavik, became a home for the downtrodden -- those who couldn't earn enough to afford a better shelter than the falling-down barracks. It's here, in Camp Thule, that we meet the Tomasson family. There's old Karolina and her husband, Tommi (Gísli Halldórsson, who played the drunken old man at the end of Cold Fever), who live under the same roof as their three grandchildren -- Baddi, a young rebel with an Elvis fixation; Danni, a shy recluse forever in his brother's shadow when it comes to friends and women; and Dolli, a young mother who is frustrated with married life. Life is hard in the camp, but alcohol flows freely, and, when Baddi starts bringing his drunk friends home for post-midnight rock-and-roll parties, tensions within the house threaten to explode.
Throughout his films, Fridriksson has never been judgmental about the Americanization of Icelandic culture. While one could see Devil's Island as an indictment of that trend -- more negative effects than positive ones are shown -- exactly the opposite was true in Movie Days, which reflected the director's own childhood experiences. Rather than making a specific political statement, Fridriksson is attempting to present an honest (if occasionally nostalgic) depiction of how things were. While it's true that Baddi loves American rock music and clothing, and cops a James Dean attitude, his disaffection with life comes from someplace deep within.
Perhaps the most compelling aspect of Devil's Island is the not-so-friendly brotherly rivalry between Baddi and Danni. Even though Baddi is revered in the neighborhood while Danni is regarded with thinly-veiled contempt, the Elvis-like rebel delights in humiliating his socially inept sibling. Ultimately, however, it's Baddi who remains tied to the ground while Danni is given the opportunity to soar, even if there is a bittersweet twist to this. Fridriksson finds the core of truth in the relationship between these two, and polishes it to near-perfection.
Unlike Cold Fever, which was as much a spiritual journey as a physical one, Devil's Island isn't especially ambitious. In the end, it's really just a simple tale of the sometimes- comic, sometimes-tragic struggles of one family. But it's beautifully photographed and well- written, and those qualities make for an enjoyable motion picture. Though a less "global" movie than its predecessor, Devil's Island deserves the same level of attention accorded to Cold Fever.
© 1997 James Berardinelli