Save for a single underwater sex scene, this Icelandic import takes place entirely on land, and the movie, far from recalling the contemplative imagery that its title implies, is one long, extended, nearly deafening screech.
It is also pure soap opera. A family reunites, old feuds flare, and an inferno combusts. The particulars aren’t worth recounting. Just know to expect sterling observations along the lines of “You can’t freeze love like a gutted fish.” And from a young woman starved for incestuous amoré with her first cousin: “At night I chew my way through my quilt, and then I wake up covered with feathers.” Clearly, down comforters have their drawbacks.
The few choice nuggets to spill out of the screenwriter’s impoverished imagination hail from the clan’s obstreperously cranky grandmother, an old crone who responds to a visitor’s request for cola with “…in Hell, demons pour Coke over the parched gums of the damned.” The Sea doesn’t get much more ebullient than that.
May 30, 2003