As I read into the world of Jon Fosse, there is a strong acknowledgement of having experienced this particular kind of sensibility once before. Years ago, I came across the short Icelandic film The Last Farm, by Rúnar Rúnarsson. At the time of viewing, I was completely moved, and later I found, somewhat haunted by the residual effect, an aftershock that always flowed beneath the current of my artistic development and cultural consumption.

It is a fairly obvious and simple film, with the kind of drama that can easily garner emotional responses, but there was something in the austerity of its fjord-rimmed boundaries and austere semi-arctic landscape that had a subtle shock (or now years later, perhaps I see this impact as a communication with inherent personal sensibilities) on my then rapidly expanding understanding of global art. It is a film that explores loneliness, independence, and finality, and though less acknowledged in the story of aging and dying, it speaks to deliberate attempts at non-conformity.

The film follows an elderly man, presumably the last farmer of the desolate and run-down last farm, and his vigorous final preparations. With the sea always in the background, this proud figure moves old wood and machinery, digs in the earth, and eats his meals alone, all the while he attempts to dissuade his daughter from visiting and avoids a prolonged visit from a neighbor. By now, we know that this man’s wife lies deceased in her bed upstairs and his work is that of a determined husband resigned to not live without her. Through the scenes of dialog (the two scenes of communication in this film seem like a lot for such a short time span, and yet their deployment creates an excellent tension), we learn that he and his late wife are destined to be relocated to the retirement community. As the conclusion becomes somewhat clearer, there is a sense of inner cheering for the obstinate farmer and there is a strong sympathy for the plight of the elderly. Growing old has its advantages, but the negative side of aging is widely understood and acknowledged, and what is captured so well in The Last Farm is the resignation a partner must feel when left behind. Suicide, both active and passive, is often a dark side of this stage of humanity, and within this turmoil, the hero of this story strives to maintain his pride and dignity, his independence, his communion with his wife. In the way that he was likely a pragmatic farmer, he also understands there is certain things that must now happen.

This man and his deeply sincere relationship with his wife, his farm, and the surrounding sea, this life of repetitive tasks and spirituality (a bible is placed on his wife’s body, and a wooden cross marks her grave, therefore, we are not exactly sure of the nature of his personal spiritual feelings, as we never see him interact in this way) feels like a visual embodiment of Fosse’s world. I came to Rúnarsson’s film first, and I believe that experience has enhanced my reading of Fosse, given me a contextualization for understanding the austere and geographic element of his work. In addition, the farmer of this film inhabits the quiet self-determination that many of Fosse’s characters maintain; a self-consciousness, a loneliness, and a communion with landscapes that seem to reflect these qualities.

*The Last Farm was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Live Action Short Film in 2005