Written and Directed by Hlynur Pálmason | 143 min | ▲▲▲△△ | Criterion Channel

From the director of A White, White Day comes fascinating, occasionally confounding, and glacial drama about faith, religion, and colonialism, set against the elemental landscape of Iceland in the late 19th Century.

The Church of Denmark sends a young priest, Lucas (Elliott Crosset Hove) to build a new church in some (almost) god-forsaken corner of the island. He brings with him a camera and (too) many books. He’s instructed to get along with the locals and understand their customs. A guide, Ragnar (Ingvar Sigurdsson) and his men agree to escort him to where he needs to be. Though the film sets the priest up as something of an explorer, if not an adventurer, he quickly becomes impatient with the challenges of his quest, a frustration that may lead to the death of one of his party.

The film claims to have been inspired by a small collection of photos taken of the southern portion of Iceland in the 19th Century, which helps explain why Pálmason chooses the Academy ratio, the corners rounded to evoke vintage photography. He occasionally resorts to proper portraits of the characters and time lapse imagery, including an impressive shot of a decomposing horse to give us a sense of time’s passage.

The story itself isn’t entirely unfamiliar — Aguirre, The Wrath of God and Black Robe both could be progenitors — the madman and the man of god, one and the same, and woe betide the others duty-bound to associate with him or who set themselves against him.

I also appreciated that one of the film’s themes is how so much is lost in translation across speech and culture. The very translation of the title of the film is a misnomer — more accurately it’s something like Wretched Land, I understand. One of the things this picture has going for it is the driest of wit that perks it up from time to time. The men here are frequently ridiculous, and the film knows it. Lucas is constantly falling down — Hove brings remarkable slapstick timing, he falls well.

I struggled a little with the pace, especially in the third act, but it’s inarguably beautiful and thoughtfully put together as it gently tills its thematic concerns, as consumed by its formalist notions and visuals as it is by its characters.

For what it’s worth, I believe the real star of Godland is a lovely Icelandic sheepdog.