The Love That Remains

Most romantic films fixate on love’s dramatic peaks: first kisses, bitter break-ups and grand reunions. Not Hlynur Pálmason. The Icelandic director’s follow-up to his austere 19th-century drama Godland (2022) takes a geological interest in love, and how the accumulated weight of years can transform passion into something more enduring.

Visual artist Anna (Saga Garðarsdóttir) and fisherman Magnús (Sverrir Guðnason) were once teenage sweethearts, but have gradually grown apart. Anna, whose work explores environmental erosion and decay, has recently lost her studio; its roof was wrenched off by a crane in the film’s opening scene, mirroring her domestic upheaval. Meanwhile, Magnús spends long periods at sea, although his lingering presence during shore leave suggests unresolved feelings. Together, they navigate their separation while raising their three children (played by Pálmason's own kids) and their scene-stealing sheepdog Panda (winner of the Palm Dog at Cannes.)

Shot on 35mm, the celluloid's gritty imperfection deepens the film's fascination with impermanence and makes watching it feel like flicking through an old family photo album. However, instead of images of posed perfection, we observe the daily routines, in-jokes and invisible bonds that constitute family life. Throughout the film, Pálmason eschews melodrama, instead opting for dry humour and moments of surreal fancy, including a memorable dream sequence featuring a vengeful rooster. 

Rich with metaphor yet emotionally authentic, The Love That Remains is full of the fecundity of life; it's a romantic drama in which love isn't a flame that needs rekindling, but something that weathers, erodes and rebuilds over time.