Flavored directorial debut lives up to Scandinavian predecessors.
Opening with a shot that answers one of life’s most mysterious questions of why the front-door of a home opens inward and not outward, this scene proves that either the inventor of the door with the ‘welcome home’ mat was from one of the Scandinavian countries or it demonstrates the kind of wry sense of humor one acquires when faced with the environmental reality of snow.
Plucked from the same batch of nutty Scandinavian film directors, this debut from Icelandic filmmaker Dagur Kari gives us the hapless, sometimes joyful story about a somewhat delinquent teenager Noi (played by Tomas Lemarquis) with a Charlie Brown hairdo. Unlike 101 ReykjavÃk, a film that gave viewer’s a reason to believe that a future in a place with tons of snow isn’t as bleak as first thought of, in Noi’s habitat of houses topped in white one might think different. Noi is not a regular kid going through the motions, he is the type who couldn’t hurt a fly and is revealed as a poster child for an aimless generation of Icelandic youths.
Escapism becomes the principle theme for Noi Albinoi, vehicled mostly in the actions of Noi who finds more use in a retro childhood favorite Viewmaster rather than in French lessons, a shrink’s Rubik’s cube or for that matter, school in general. When he doesn’t seek refuge in a small corner of his Grandmother’s house he is dreaming someone else’s fantasies. Though viewer’s might find the sudden urge to belt out Midnight Oil’s Beds are Burning, Kari singles out the film’s protagonist not by his color of skin, but through the quirky behavior inside his environment. Peering through his humanist telescope, it makes for genial moments such as the tape recorder incident, a botched bank robbery and other weird moments in which the film doesn’t attempt to explain the meaning of.
Like distilled water, this branded Fjord comedy-noir never strikes an emotional cord within, nor does it ever attempt to, Noi Albinoi remains both funny and moderately moving in a deadpan, cold type of manner. While the ending comes ill prepared and contrasts especially well with the Viewmaster pics of a tubby island native, Kari excels in delivering the absurd in the hard to describe moments, relationships and solitudes.
Viewed in original Icelandic langauge with English subtitles.
