RAMS (B+) - From Iceland comes this quirky tale of sheep farmers whose quaint livelihood is threatened by an outbreak of scrapie among the flock. The award-winning stock, tended by estranged brothers and handed down in their families for generations, must be exterminated, along with those of farmers across the region.
How will Gummi (Sigurdur Sigurjonsson) and Kiddi (Theodor Juliusson) cope? They live in houses on the same land but they haven't spoken in 40 years. Their modes of communication involve notes delivered by Kiddi's herding dog or a shotgun blast through a window (Kiddi's a vindictive drunk). Kiddi employs that shotgun (or the threat of it, at least) as a way to fend off the inevitable. Gummi tries to outsmart the regional farm bureau and save the lineage.
To say any more about the plot -- leading up to a devastating and beautiful conclusion -- would reveal too much. Sophomore writer/director Grimur Hakonarson has crafted a quiet, bittersweet tale of a culture trapped in a bygone era. "Rams" is a finely observed sketch of a pair of gruff characters. It also flashes a sharp wit and some broad physical humor.
Despite the rivalry between the brothers, a thread running through the narrative hints at an underlying tenderness that will bring the brothers together; neither Gummi nor Kiddi, you sense, will let the other succumb to the tragedy that has befallen their divided family farm. Their brotherly bond, in the end, may be profound.
ENTERTAINMENT (B-minus) - Adrift in a dying (or dead) culture, a comedian who traffics ironically in outdated shtick plies his trade at loser bars dotting the Mojave desert area of California, unable to conceal the overwhelming anger and self-loathing he feels over the haunting estrangement from his unseen daughter.
Rick Alverson, who disappointed in 2012 with "The Comedy," does a better job of eliciting the creeps and creating a mood of bitterness and loneliness, thrusting a weaselly Gregg Turkington into the lead role. (The actor riffs on his longtime alter ego, the character of Neil Hamburger.) The unnamed Comedian wears a cheap tux, sports a damp comb-over and spouts stupid vulgar riddles. He calls to mind a cross between Leonard Barr and Andrew Dice Clay as imagined by Andy Kaufman. Holding a drink in his hand while cradling two backups in the crook of his arm, he speaks in a grating whine and tosses out nonsensical trifles such as: "What was Elvis Presley's worst ever release? The ejaculation containing Lisa Marie." Or: "Why does E.T. love Reese's Pieces so much? Because they have the same flavor as cum does on his home planet." He's also partial to rape jokes.
During his road trip, the Comedian embarks on a tour of a lost America: an airplane graveyard, a barren oil field, a deserted mineral mine. We overhear characters quoting material from gritty '70s films, such as "Five Easy Pieces" and "Taxi Driver." He crosses paths with goofy or troubled characters, allowing for cameos by John C. Reilly, Amy Seimetz, Michael Cera, David Yow from the Jesus Lizard, and Dean Stockwell. He's like a ghost wandering a vast devastated landscape. Occasionally we see him (in flashbacks? dreams?) standing in a doorway or hallway styled like a rhinestoned Col. Sanders. Random people speak Spanish to him. A few times, sad young women stare at him, studying him intently. Are they stand-ins for that daughter who never answers his calls? Is he being pitied? Reviled? Feared?
It's all quite overstuffed at 101 minutes, but it hangs together as a haunting meditation on a damaged soul trapped in a horrific purgatory. (It could very well be that he's not just missing his daughter but mourning her.) "Entertainment" is fascinating and disturbing, and often unsatisfying, but it has a hymn-like appeal as it mourns a vanishing existence.
BONUS TRACKS
This is perhaps the most touching scene in "Entertainment," accompanied by "Animals in the Zoo" by Leah Devorah:
Speaking of David Yow and guttural entertainment, here's the Jesus Lizard with "Glamorous":
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