A WHITE WHITE DAY (B+) - Ingvar Sigurdsson is a force to be reckoned with in this harrowing tale of an emotionally knotted man coming to terms not only with the death of his wife but also the apparent realization that she may have been unfaithful. A bit sluggish over its nearly two-hour running time, this simmering suspense film builds relentlessly and convincingly in the hands of writer-director Hlynur Palmason.
Sigurdsson's Ingimundur has a stony demeanor and seems to gain solace from only two things: the house he is methodically building and the time he gets to spend with his charming tween granddaughter, Salka (Ida Mekkin Hlynsdottir). Ingimundur is a small-town police chief on leave of absence, and he eventually develops a third obsession -- confronting the man suspected of sleeping with his wife.
Palmason does a brilliant job of setting the table in the first half, and his camerawork in the second half lends an immediacy that gradually heightens the tension until Ingimundur finally achieves his reckoning. Our hero seems barely in control -- it's almost amusing how many times he puts his granddaughter in danger, as if she's a patrol partner -- yet he is intellectually astute as he navigates his own emotional landscape. In the end, it seems that the only thing that could console him -- a reckoning with his dead wife -- is impossible.
THE MEASURE OF A MAN (2016) (C) - Not even Vincent Lindon can rescue this lethargic character study of an out-of-work husband and father trying to salvage his dignity as a breadwinner. Lindon reunites with Stephane Brise, the director of "Mademoiselle Chambon," but there is no spark in this depiction of the drudgery of working-class life.
Lindon's hangdog expressions are a good fit for the role of Thierry, who seems beaten down by the unemployment system that fumbles its attempts to retool his skills and who seems emasculated by the penny pinching he is forced to do on behalf of his wife and handicapped high school son. Thierry, finally -- but not until the second half of the movie -- lands a job as a security guard at a megastore, where he now must harass customers and employees who, like he was, are strapped for cash and down on their luck, descending into petty theft.
File this one under Fast Forward Theater. Brise drags out scenes interminably, too enamored of an apparently amateur cast to convey the realism of France's bureaucracy and the beatdown felt by the lower classes. But realism doesn't pop on the screen here; instead, interactions run in circles and later repeat themselves. This was a valiant attempt to connect with the hoi polloi, but it pretty much goes nowhere.
BONUS TRACK
From the closing credits in "White Day," Leonard Cohen's mournful "Memories":
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