Introduction

     Located on the frozen fringes of Europe, Scandinavia is a region that is often, quite simply put, overlooked. Known for its icy blonde beauties, robust welfare programs, and little else, the region has long faced an identity crisis. In light of this, it is unsurprising that the outsider has emerged as a consistent theme in Nordic art and film. From Edvard Munch's haunting painting "The Scream" to the carefully-crafted solitude of Dagur Kari's Noi the Albino, solitutde and individualism have appeared consistently in Scandinavian art. In this paper I will explore the role of the "outsider" in two recent Nordic productions, one from Iceland and the other from Norway, arguing that their depiction of odd characters is a reflection of the political and cultural marginalization of the region. This phenomenon is particularly noticeable in the cinemas of Norway and Iceland, the only two nations who continue to remain outside of the borders of the European Union.
     The film industries of the Nordic nations have long been overshadowed by those of larger nations, particularly by those of France and the US. Traditionally sparsely populated, Scandinavia has long lacked the domestic markets necessary to produce large blockbuster films. Danish researcher Mette Hjort attempts to explain this situation by classifying the film industries of Scandinavia as "minor cinema," the term minor referring not to the quality or importance of the production, but to what Hjort labels the "need for strategic resourcefulness on the part of those who are unfavorably situated within the cultural landscape in question, be it a national context or a more properly global one." In many ways the Norwegian and Icelandic film industries epitomize this idea of minor cinema. While Sweden and Denmark have recently become internationally-known for their work, from the Swede Ingmar Bergman to the Dane Lars von Trier, and his avant-guard Dogme 95 collective, Norway and Iceland have largely remained overlooked. Both nations have extremely small populations (Iceland's is a mere 320,000) incapable of supporting a commercially-based domestic market. Furthermore, linguistically Scandinavia remains isolated, with no other nations speaking Norwegian or Icelandic, making the international distribution of films produced in these languages extremely difficult. These factors combined with the dominance of Hollywood productions globally have hindered domestic production. Thus the challenge for these nations is to create films that are globally marketable, while remaining culturally relevant on a domestic scale. Aided by the generous state support of each nation, a number of innovative films have been made recently, with Norwegian films, in particular, beginning to enter mainstream European cinema.

Alone in the Land of the Ice and Snow: Dagur Kari's Noi Albinoi

     Released in 2003, Icelandic director Dagur Kari's film debut Noi Albinoi (literally Noi the Albino) is in many ways the outsider film par excellence. Set in the barren tundra of northern Iceland, the film tells the tale of Noi, a 17-year old albino, and his struggle to find his place in an unforgiving society. Ostracized for his strange looks and equally strange behavior, Noi is placed on the margins of a society already on the fringe, further emphasizing his "otherness."  Primarily a character-driven piece, Noi is a somewhat static film. Little action occurs, with Kari choosing to focus on the creation of an overarching mood, in this case melancholia. Kari's naturalistic style forces the viewer to pay close attention to the charcters, observing subtle cues from their nearly emotionless faces.
     Color is the defining cinematographic aspect of the film. In the film, Noi is defined by his albinoism, even if it is never explicitly addressed. From his clean-shaven head to his piercing blue eyes, Noi appears more like an alien than a human being. Kari links the extreme whiteness of his skin to the savage wintry landscape that surrounds him. The film is dominated by the color white, with Kari largely avoiding the use of primary colors.  Kari's use of cool colors throughout the film causes characters to recede into the background, allowing his sparing use of color to provide emphasis. As reviewer Ty Burr of the Boston Globe observes, "the film is so recessive that at times it threatens to disappear into itself." In one scene reminiscent of Garden State, Noi is visually absorbed by the blue-green wallpaper of his living room. A small, bright red viewfinder, a gift from his grandmother, pops out from the screen, emphasizing its importance within the scene. Through the viewfinder, Noi gazes at images of a tropical paradise, from bronzed natives to a beautiful beach scene, complete with powdery sand, green palm leaves and turquoise water. Juxtaposing these warmer, colorful images with those of barren Iceland help to highlight Noi's geographic and social isolation. In fact, Kari peppers his piece with subtle references to Hawaii, from the tack Hawaiian shirt his alcoholic father often wears to the map in the museum, Hawaii and the tropics in general come to symbolize escape. In the film's emotionally exhaustive final scene, Noi sits in the rubble of his house, destroyed by the avalanche that killed nearly everyone he knew and loved, gazing through the viewfinder. The film's brilliant final shot features the static image of the beach, before the waves begin to crash, indicating Noi's eventual liberation.
     In addition to the blue-green elements of the picture, Kari paints the mood of melancholy with the use of sound. The film uses little non-diegetic sound. Kari favors wide, silent shots of Noi, forcing the viewer to pay careful attention to the emotional cues in his face. However, non-diegetic sound does occur in the film. The soundtrack combines a score inspired by Hawaiian music with the American music favored by Noi's father. Kari uses the warmth of the music to represent a sharp contrast with the cool images that dominate the film. One notable example is the scene where Noi digs a grave, a morbid task, while warm music plays. This audio-visual disjunct attracts the viewers attention to the screen, highlighting the action of the shot and creating dramatic tension. Another example is the scene where his father, Kiddi, sings a painful rendition of Elvis' "In the Ghetto" in a drab bar. Kari juxtaposes scenes of Noi being kicked out of the bar and thrown into a heap of snow with that of his father singing, contasting the warmth of the music with the unforgiving cold of Iceland.
     Kari further emphasizes Noi's isolation and entrapment with the use of carefully-composed shots. Favoring a naturalistic style, Kari moves the camera as little as possible. The result is wide shots that allow the viewer to observe the surroundings as well as focus on the actions, limited as they may be, of the characters. The opening scene depicts Noi's grandmother waking him up to go to school. The shot frames two doorways as his grandmother moves from room to room, emphasizing her movement on the creaky floor. Kari also punctuates his film with wide shots of the fjord that surrounds Noi's fishing village. These shots are long, forcing the viewer to ponder the raw beauty of the landscape.
     Despite his attempt to create a universal film, Noi Albinoi holds a distinctively Icelandic flair. The uniqueness of the setting is one of the primary reasons. Had the film been set in a small fishing village in such disparate locations as Italy, Brazil or Indonesia, everything would have been different. Furthermore, Kari uses Noi's isolation as a visual metaphor for Iceland's exclusion from global politics and remote location in the north Atlantic, distanced from Europe and North America. Every aspect of the film, from the music to the sparing use of color, serves to highlight this isolation and Noi's sense of "otherness." In this sense, Noi Albinoi is a powerful depiction of Nordic, and particularly, Icelandic identity.

Outsiders in an Urban World: Elling

     Nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, Elling is one of the first Norwegian films to gain worldwide attention. Breaking box office records at home, Elling was screened around the world, appearing in film festivals from Tel Aviv to Toronto. Like Noi, Elling focuses on the otherness of its protagonists, Elling a shy mama's boy and Kjell Bjarne a 40-year-old virgin. Yet, unlike Noi, Elling places its characters in the urban setting of Oslo, and uses a humorous, rather than melancholic tone, to convey its message. Also, the protagonists of Elling are excluded from society not for their physical differences, but for their mental conditions and neuroses.
     The film's director, Peter Naess, employs a variety of filmic techniques to highlight the marginalization of his characters and their detachment from society. The film opens with a brief summary of protagonist Elling's life. Naess juxtaposes images of Elling being forcefully removed from his deceased mother's home by the police, as he calmly narrates his story in a high-pitched, neurotic voice, lending the film a charming Rainman-like quality. We instantly feel sorry for this self-described "mama's boy" as he narrates the intimate details of his strange upbringing, which is reminiscent of a less creepy version of Benigno's life from Talk to Her. Placed in a state home, Elling meets Kjell Bjarne (KB), a simple-minded, sex-obsessed virgin. The two are forced to be roommates and eventually form a fragile bond. The primary narrative of the film begins with Elling and KB's transfer to a state-sponsored apartment in Oslo, so that they may successfully reintigrate themselves into society.
     Through the brilliant use of characterization, Naess is able to create two endearing characters to whom the viewer can not exactly identify with, but certainly empathize with, standing in sharp contrast to the enigmatic characters of Noi. Naess uses Elling's narration throughout the film, allowing his main character to tell his own story and offering viewers a glimpse into his scattered mind, allowing much needed insight and providing a greater understanding of the character and his motivations. Through a string of humorous scenes, we are introduced to the pair's neuroses. In one of the funniest scenes of the film, Elling runs away from a ringing telephone, deathly afraid of answering it. In another he comically meditates on the fact that some people can climb mountains fearlessly, while he is unable to use a public restroom. These scenes, and the audience's awareness of Elling's recognition of his problems, renders his small triumphs all the more significant. Seemingly trivial scenes, like Elling's first phone call or his small talk with a man outside of a bar, leave the viewer cheering him along. Naess augments these scenes with warm colors and whimsical music, further contributing to the film's lighthearted mood.
     A sense of Norwegian identity seems to pervade the film. The uptight neurotic Elling seems to represent the traditional image of the stand-offish Scandinavian. Painfully shy and immaculately neat, Naess uses the character of Elling to play with popular stereotypes of Norwegians. Further, his obsessive devotion to the Labor party and emulation of its political leaders provides a comic view of the typical socialist Scandinavian. Kjell Bjarne, meanwhile, plays to other stereotypes. A tall, oaf of a man, KB height and technical skill instill in him a sense of distinctively Nordic manliness. The film's setting is also inextricably linked to Norway. To American viewers, the amount of care lavished on Elling and KB (and at seemingly no cost) seems crazy. Yet to Norwegian audiences, such care is taken for granted, perhaps helping to explain the vast number of Norwegian films treating the subject of mental illness. Even the film's central message carries essentially Nordic values, help your fellow citizens. While the state provides a great deal of support to Elling and KB, their eventual transformations are ultimately the result of the support of one another.

Conclusion

     The cinemas of Norway and Iceland are largely those of the outsider. It is thus unsurprising that depictions of the "other" occur frequently in Nordic films. From the long, pensive shots of Noi to the warm, humorous shots of Elling, the role of outsiders appears as a a recurring theme. Both films face the challenge of offering universal appeal while still offering a distinctively national flair. From the external albinoism of Noi to the internal neuroses of Elling and Kjell Bjarne, Nordic filmmakers focus on outsiders to reflect elements of their national identity.

Bibliography

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