This is a reference to the fact the award was handed out in a wine bar. “I’m a bit of a hermit, not much for going up on a stage,” remarks Ramsay, who is nonetheless quite used to that by now. A veteran of Cannes, where all her feature films have premiered, she first attended in 1996 with her graduation short Small Deaths, which won the Jury Prize. She has fond memories of that festival, which was huge for Scottish film (“The Trainspotting party was amazing”). She has also won prizes on the Croisette for Gasman (Jury Prize Short Film, 1998), Morvern Callar (Award of the Youth, 2002) and You Were Never Really Here (Best Screenplay, 2017).

With the exception of Ratcatcher, which is currently enjoying a new run in cinemas in the UK for its 25th anniversary, all her feature films so far have been adaptations (and there’s more on the way). Is there something particularly appealing about putting one’s own stamp on someone else’s work?

“None of them are really straight adaptations, they’re quite radical. The books are more of a jump-off point, and luckily the original writers have appreciated this, because film is a very different medium.”

This refers not only to those who have already seen their work adapted, like Lionel Shriver and Jonathan Ames, but also the authors of source material that is still waiting to reach the screen, such as Stephen King (The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon) and Margaret Atwood (Stone Mattress, which is set to star Julianne Moore and Sandra Oh).

There is one notable exception: The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, which Ramsay was attached to before it transpired her drafts were too different from the book in the eyes of the producers. The film – about a young girl who observes her family from the afterlife after being murdered – was eventually made by Peter Jackson, who received criticism for, ironically, sticking too closely to the novel, particularly its depiction of Heaven. “Yeah, I would have done that very differently,” Ramsay says. “My approach was more similar to Hamlet, with the father trying to prove the murderer’s identity.”

In the case of We Need to Talk About Kevin, which deals with the aftermath of a school massacre as well as the build-up to it, deviating from the source material was also a practical matter. “I probably learned more about editing than anything else, working on that film. It’s a 500-page book, written in the form of letters and dealing with multiple time periods. Because of the 2008 financial crisis, the budget was cut, so I had to figure out how to make the movie with less money. I went to Stromboli, in Sicily, and while I was there I had an epiphany. Sound is very important in that film, in terms of connecting the timelines.”

In 2011, much of the critical attention went to Ezra Miller’s breakout performance as the teenaged Kevin, but upon re-watching the film at Stockfish just before the interview, I was struck by the work of the two child actors playing even younger versions of the character. How did Ramsay get such chilling performances out of them? “Oh, they were all great, the Kevins. The thing with kids is, you can’t patronize them, they can smell bullshit a mile away.”

She then shares a funny story about Jasper Newell, who played Kevin at age 6-8 and was seven years old at the time. Newell, who is now in film school (“I’m so proud of him, even back then he told me he was going to be a filmmaker”), had no objection to the script’s darker content, but did take issue with the scenes where Kevin resists toilet training: “He didn’t want to wear the diapers because he was no longer using them in real life.”

After this, what’s next? Among the projects in the pipeline is Polaris, her first original script since Ratcatcher and her second collaboration with Joaquin Phoenix, for whom she coined the nickname “Jeebus” (a Simpsons reference) after learning he was going to play Jesus right after finishing You Were Never Really Here. He affectionately reciprocates by calling her Ponty, short for Pontius Pilate.

Before that, pending schedule adjustments after the end of last year’s SAG-AFTRA strike, it’s probably going to be Die, My Love, followed by Stone Mattress (and on the adaptation front, there’s still the long-gestating sci-fi take on Moby Dick). Regarding the former, starring Jennifer Lawrence (who also produces), Ramsay offers the perfect logline: “It’s a comedy, and a love story. But it’s my kind of comedy and love story, so it’s going to be dark and fucked-up.”

Note: An earlier version of this story mentioned Polaris as being in post-production, as previously reported by other outlets. We have since been told by people close to Lynne Ramsay that the film hasn’t been shot yet.

Originating in Germany around a decade ago, and since spreading to various other countries around the world, community fridges – sometimes referred to as Freedges – are a mutual aid movement in which food can be shared to combat food poverty and reduce waste. Rakel Jonsdottir’s film, which was part of a wider academic project, sought out a number of these fridges and the people that use them in her native Iceland.

The film opens with a brief description of what a Freedge is, focusing primarily on the food waste element. What follows comprises durational images of six Rekjavik fridges and one in the nearby Mosfellsbaer, capturing static takes of the objects in their setting. Jonsdottir’s decision to create what is, in essence, a landscape documentary in its form, allows for the surroundings of the fridges to inform our understanding of the movement, as well as letting the very presence of the fridge come to represent something about the places in which they are place. The object and location become entwined in their meaning-making.

Interjected amongst the lingering scenes are collages of still images of the fridges filled, sometimes to overflowing with food. The film accompanies these images with audio of various people speaking about movement and about the use of the fridges, drawing out the mutual aid benefits alongside the environmental impacts. The touches on the benefits of food sharing both for those in dire need, and those able to help and provide. The relationship is nourishing in both directions and despite its formal austerity, Jonsdottir’s film absolutely exemplifies the empathy it finds in the Freedge’s existence.

Director: Rakel Jonsdottir
Editing: Olafur Bjorn Tomasson
Sound, music: Raudur
Venue: Stockfish (Documentary Shorts)
In Icelandic
8 minutes

Read more about short films at Verdict Shorts

The event’s audience-oriented nature is evident in its programming strategy: about 20-25 films, with no premiere status requirement for features (whereas the Shortfish competition, showcasing works by emerging Icelandic filmmakers, are world premieres), all playing in the late afternoon and evening. Additionally, to celebrate the festival’s tenth anniversary, all screenings were free of charge, as a way of thanking viewers for their loyalty.

They, in turn, showed up quite eagerly, to watch films old and new and listen to filmmakers like Lynne Ramsay, this year’s international Honorary Award recipient, and Friðrik Þór Friðriksson, who had a whale of time interacting with everyone before and after the screening of his 1995 movie Cold Fever, which screened as part of a series devoted to the country’s cinematic heritage.

The mornings and early afternoons were focused on various industry topics, including a behind-the-scenes look at how festivals themselves are put together, with Mimi Plauché, artistic director of the Chicago International Film Festival, in conversation with her Stockfish counterpart Hrönn Kristinsdóttir (an award-winning producer whose credits include the 2021 hit Lamb).

Other highlights of the professional-centric side of things included a roundtable with Nordic and Baltic film schools (choice revelation: many students are rebelling against the increasingly digital creative landscape by making more projects on celluloid) and the customary unveiling of Icelandic works in progress seeking post-production funds, distribution and/or international sales. This writer is particularly curious to see the finished version of Temporary Shelter, an account of refugee life on a former military base filmed by one of the refugees (Anastasiia Bortual, a Ukrainian film student who had to cut her education short as a result of the war).

The Scandinavian feel, with modernity and tradition blending seamlessly, extended to the choice of locations for the festival’s happenings. The screenings were all at Bio Paradìs, a centrally located cinema in downtown Reykjavik, while some of the industry talks took place half an hour away on foot at the Nordic House, a culture center situated right next to Vatnsmyri Park and a stone’s throw from the National Museum, more openly in contact with nature.

The intermingling of past and present (and future) was also strong in the choice of films to bookend the festival. The opening slot went to Eternal, the Danish sci-fi romance drama dealing with the consequences of climate change. Denmark was also this year’s Country in Focus, with three films screened and a masterclass given by Helle Hansen, the former documentary commissioner for the Danish Film Institute. The closing movie, conversely, was Belle, an English-language Icelandic retelling of Beauty and the Beast which takes full advantage of the primal imagery of its locations to put a personal spin on the age-old tale.

(Relatively) small in scale but huge in ambition and its sincere love of cinema, this edition of Stockfish truly had something for everyone, including that rarest of things at pretty much any festival: the possibility of watching every single movie in the program. And judging by the crowds entering Bio Paradìs, a few people did just that.

The movie owns up to its inspiration straight away, with opening narration so familiar one could be forgiven for assuming they were hearing an Icelandic-accented fandub of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. The international poster even quotes Howard Ashman’s song lyrics by using “The tale as old as time” as its tagline. And yet, there is something much darker going on beneath the recognizable surface – something the film alludes to with its Icelandic title, Fanga, meaning “prisoner”.

In this version, the famous rose is said to grant immortality, and the Beast has been cursed to guard it forever, as punishment for his adulterous behavior. When Belle’s father falls gravely ill, she is allowed to use the rose’s powers to restore his health. But there’s a catch: the spell will only be effective for one day, unless Belle agrees to remain the Beast’s prisoner, for all eternity.

Intriguingly, there isn’t really a Gaston/Avenant figure in this take on the story, or rather, he’s dismissed fairly quickly in favor of the real alpha male conflict going on: on one end, the father (Gudmundur Thorvaldsson), who has been changed from his usual passive depiction to a more warrior-like figure, fully embracing the Scandinavian feel of the project; on the other, the Beast (Ingi Hrafn Hilmarsson, also one of the producers), who in a neat reversal retains his human appearance (he looks like a bearded version of the Disney prince), with a mysterious bloodlust emerging at random intervals.

Caught in between them, Belle (Andrea Snaedal) is effectively a prisoner of both men, either physically or emotionally, and all three actors convey the tensions of a relationship that is loving and toxic at the same time with great intensity. This is still a fairy tale, but with a much murkier, more adult-oriented spirit coursing through its seven chapters: one scene in particular, where Belle and Beast openly address their sexual frisson, would not have been out of place in Angela Carter’s writings.

The film may be primarily in English (only select characters speak Icelandic), but the Nordic mood is prevalent from the get-go, be it via the casting or through the use of local landscapes that cinematographer Nico Navia captures to convey an eerie, primal atmosphere which turns a landmark of French literature into an unsettling piece of Scandinavian folklore. Shots of nature that other directors like Darren Aronofsky (Noah) or Ridley Scott (Prometheus) used to signify the beginning of life are an explicit harbinger of doom here.

Yes, it is a tale as old as time. But there is another Ashman lyric that resonates even more: true as it can be. Stripped of its more romantic elements, the story of Belle and her unlikely love interest retains its essential plot beats, but with an edgier, more contemporary sensibility and an emotional intelligence that give it something other recent reimaginings didn’t have: a reason to exist beyond cashing in on nostalgia and brand recognition.

Director, screenwriter: Max Gold
Cast: Andrea Snaedal, Ingi Hrafn Hilmarsson, Gudmundur Thorvaldsson, Hana Vagnerová, Sigurdur Sigurjónsson, Helga Braga Jónsdóttir
Producers: Lauren Bates, Zoey Gold, Ingi Hrafn Hilmarsson
Cinematography: Nico Navia
Production design: Susan Huyett
Costume design: Nadine Sondej-Robinson
Music: Matt Orenstein
Sound: Josh Ascalon
Production companies: Blind Hummingbird Productions, Teenager, Black Feather Creative, Monumental Productions
World sales: Motion Picture Exchange
Venue: Stockfish (Closing Film)
In English, Icelandic
93 minutes

Indeed, in Peter Thor’s unreal evocation of someone battling with the lingering suffering of childhood abuse, personal history continually crashes unbidden into the present. A fragmentary internal portrait, it is a film that exists both outside of time and space and yet is constantly defined and warped by their insistence. Filled with arresting and disturbing imagery and an irregular editing rhythm, it perhaps most closely resembles mid-century works of European cinema that grappled with moral and psychosocial issues.

In Thor’s film, The Boy is played by Hogni Thor Thorsteinsson as a young man inhabiting a gloomy childhood space rife with symbols of a tumultuous past. From the stuffed toy he holds to his bosom to the painful marks that appear on his neck after a physical assault from his father, the boy tries to come to terms with what happened to him and the long-lasting results. Even in the moments in which the film leans into its more surrealist tendencies and creates startling if impenetrable imagery, the effect of its claustrophobic atmosphere remains pervasive.

It is a credit to the filmmaker that the film not only seeks to depict the ongoing impact of violence and mistreatment but to genuinely evoke its inescapability through tone. To say that If I die, will I go home? is tonally oppressive sounds like it would be intended to put people off but here it is very much a complement. And yet, Thor – and, through his performance, Thorsteinsson – manage to imbue the film with a glimmer of hope and of release. Suggesting that while the past might grip us tightly, we can also break free of its stranglehold.

Director, screenplay: Peter Thor
Cast: Hogni Thor Thorsteinsson
Producer: Tomas Noi Hauksson
Cinematography: Aron Peter Olafsson
Sound design: Jon Arnar Hauksson
Venue: Stockfish (Experimental Shorts)
In Icelandic
9 minutes

Read more about short films at Verdict Shorts

Instead, Hanna Hulda Hafthorsdottir’s deeply empathetic documentary explores the way that various forms of art, but most specifically dance, have allowed a young woman a second chance. This is not just through the ability to work through the emotions of a childhood destroyed by illness, though that is evident and compelling, but to do so in a scenario that literally offered her the opportunity to reconnect with and rediscover her body. Hafthorsdottir’s 15-minute film perfectly balances these two sides of Hafey’s story, maintaining their shared importance in her story.

“I woke up in a different world with another body,” explains Hafey, describing the experience of a 13-year-old girl reacquainting with her life after waking up in intensive care having survived a coma and brain surgery. When she was young, Hafey was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease called ITP in which a person’s body destroys the platelets in their blood, stopping it from clotting properly. She was used to being in and out of hospital, but this was a life-altering moment.

Hafthorsdottir communicates the story through a collage of forms including Hafey, now in her 20s, telling it to camera and reading excerpts from her teenage diary, as well as archival photographs and newly shot footage of Hafey’s dance practice. Dance is not always the easiest artform to transfer to cinema, often losing its haptic allure via the camera lens and feeling much colder and more abstract as a result. By combining the performance elements with Hafey relaying her experiences, the film shortens the distance and shatters that barrier, creating something in which the movement and bodily experience are not just conveyed by acutely felt. The result is a film that allows Hafey’s performance to speak to her experience, while her voice gives context to her performance.

Director: Hanna Hulda Hafthorsdottir
Cast: Hafey Lipka Thormarsdottir
Producer: Hanna Hulda Hafthorsdottir
Cinematography: Wies Breed
Music: Nina Solveig Andersen
Sound design: Cecilie Moller
Venue: Stockfish (Documentary Shorts)
In Icelandic
15 minutes

Read more about short films at Verdict Shorts