Rúnar Rúnarsson’s film When the Light Breaks invites us into a difficult yet deeply human story. Set over the course of a single day in Iceland, it follows Una as she grapples with sudden grief and loss.
Una is an art student living in Reykjavik who’s secretly begun a romantic relationship with Diddi. He promises to break things off with his longtime girlfriend Klara before flying north that morning. But tragedy strikes when multiple people, including Diddi, lose their lives in a tunnel fire.
Una is left reeling, forced to navigate complicated emotions without being able to publicly acknowledge her true connection to Diddi. Only his friend Gunni knows the truth about their relationship. Meanwhile, Klara arrives in town, unaware of Una’s existence.
The film is a sensitive portrayal of inner turmoil. Through Elín Hall’s nuanced performance and the thoughtful directing of Rúnarsson, we see Una struggle in the aftermath. A little dialogue is needed as her pain radiates beneath the surface.
Sophia Olsson’s cinematography highlights both Una’s fractured state of mind and Iceland’s mesmerizing natural light. Bookended by shots of sunrise, the film infuses visual metaphor to mirror Una’s journey through grief.
In the lonely days that follow, Una finds an unexpected connection with Klara. Their shared loss helps compensate for truths that cannot be spoken. Together, in spaces of light and intimacy, the two women acknowledge life’s impermanence and seek small comforts where they can be found.
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When the Light Breaks shines a compassionate light on private sorrow, honoring emotional complexity with grace. Rúnarsson’s sensitive filmmaking reminds us that even in our darkest moments, human intimacy can help guide us forward.
Shadows of Light
The film centers around Una, a young art student living in Reykjavik. She’s secretly begun a new romantic relationship with Diddi, a fellow student at her school. They share a passionate evening together, making plans for a future together once Diddi breaks things off with his longtime girlfriend Klara.
Tragedy strikes the next morning. Diddi is among the multiple fatalities in a tunnel fire accident. Una is left reeling from the sudden loss. As she struggles to process her emotions, complications arise from the covert nature of her involvement with Diddi.
Klara arrives in town, unaware of Una’s existence. Given Klara’s status as Diddi’s publicly recognized partner, Una feels she has no choice but to hide the truth about her and Diddi’s burgeoning love. She’s forced to mourn secretly while Klara and others openly grieve.
We also meet Gunni, Diddi’s brother. He alone knows the true nature of Una and Diddi’s bond. Yet even he believes keeping Una’s role hidden is best to spare Klara further distress.
Una grapples with her anguish, deepening as each day passes. She drifts between desperately seeking solace and withdrawing from painful social obligations. Only Klara comes to provide unlikely companionship, with the two women bonding over their mutual loss of Diddi.
Together, these characters illuminate the complexity of Una’s experience, from the heightened intimacy and future hopes she shared with Diddi to his isolation from his family and friends and the awkward kinship that develops with Klara. Their interactions and inner journeys rise above surface drama to convey profound emotional truths.
Light and Shadow
Much of When the Light Breaks’ impact stems from its visual style. Cinematographer Sophia Olsson brings an exquisite eye, capturing Iceland’s natural beauty while intensifying the film’s somber mood.
Her camera moves with tactile tenderness. In early scenes, she caresses Una and Diddi’s bodies as they gaze at the sea during sunrise, the radiant colors illuminating their love. As night falls and sorrow sets in, shadows deepen and forms blur, mirroring Una’s emotional state.
Rúnarsson utilizes his locale to create an create an atmospheric effect. Vast windows frame sweeping coastal vistas and forests, yet they also emphasize the characters’ isolation. Interiors like Diddi’s stark apartment highlight solitary figures within larger spaces.
Light becomes a dramatic narrative tool. The opening and closing shots bookend Una’s journey through the changing tones of dawn and dusk. In between, gleaming overhead lights herald tragedy as Olsson’s camera tracks their cold procession within the ominous tunnel.
This sequence viscerally puts viewers in the tunnel, the music swelling as disaster looms. It sets the tragic tone yet avoids explicitly showing death, instead evoking the eerie sensation of unknown danger.
Even happier memories are tinged with darkness. A graduation party features costumed revelers against blazing skies, their joy a bittersweet counterpoint to Una’s private struggles. Natural light infiltrates drab rooms, sometimes illuminating faces and other times leaving them brooding in shadow.
Through Olsson’s stunning cinematography, When the Light Breaks transforms Iceland’s resplendent landscapes and ever-shifting lights into powerful visual metaphors for love, loss, and the fragile nature of life itself. It’s one of the film’s most potent artistic successes.
Quiet Grief
At When the Light Breaks’ core are its emotionally piercing performances. As Una, Elín Hall gives a masterclass in understated sorrow. Her Una barely speaks, yet every flicker of expression reveals new depths of longing, anger, and confusion.
Hall lets Una’s façade crack at raw moments. When first learning of Diddi’s death, or alone practicing a ballet move and breaking down, she lays bare a person trying futilely to contain an ocean of pain. Her Una seems eternally on the verge of shattering, yet she persists in her silence. It’s a gut-wrenchingly real portrayal of private grief.
Supporting actress Katla Njálsdóttir is also a standout as Klara. Where Una internalizes, Klara wears her heart on her sleeve, sobbing uncontrollably at times. Yet Njálsdóttir finds poignant nuance, from Klara’s naive affection for “her Diddi” to her tender bond with Una. Two characters who should resent each other instead form a soul-deep understanding of their shared loss.
The men, like Gunni and Diddi’s father, exhibit quiet strength, containing their own traumas. But they don’t overshadow the women; together, the whole cast crafts an intimate mosaic of loss’s many hues. Authentic reactions, not melodrama, drive the narrative—a testament to their skill.
When the Light Breaks uses no score or flashy visuals to manipulate emotions. It succeeds through its performers’ uncanny ability to place viewers inside their raw experiences of sudden death and the long grieving process. Their nuanced work brings compassion to a profound human story.
Reflections in Grief
When the Light Breaks poignantly explores how its characters process personal tragedy. At the film’s heart is Una, grappling with the sudden loss of her secret lover, Diddi.
Una stays quiet as others loudly grieve. She bottles up her anguish to avoid complicating Klara’s suffering. But her grief runs deep and surfaces alone in her raw, private moments.
Elín Hall breathes profound life into Una’s silences. Subtle emotions play out on her face: sadness, longing, anger, and confusion, all competing beneath her stoic facade. It’s a captivating portrait of private mourning.
Meanwhile, Klara openly wails in her naive innocence of the truth. Katla Njálsdóttir perfectly captures her character’s raw sincerity. These two grief-stricken women, who should resent each other, form an unlikely bond.
Their dynamic shifts as Klara’s suspicion grows. When the truth emerges, it streamlines rather than strains their connection. In each other, they find solace no one else can offer.
Through Una and Klara’s evolving relationship, When the Light Breaks taps into grander themes. It contemplates life’s impermanence in the face of sudden death. Characters question what will define them after tragedy reshapes their realities.
The film also portrays love’s complexities. Una’s grief intertwines with her stifled feelings for Diddi. And secondary characters like Gunni support loved ones while nursing their own private wounds.
When the Light Breaks handles these profound themes with subtlety and care. It’s a meditative look at how people seek meaning in loss and transform in the process of healing. Most powerfully, it shows how shared pain can paradoxically bring individuals comfort and perspective during desperate times.
Quiet Reflection
Rúnarsson’s direction in When the Light Breaks shows a masterful use of restraint. His screenplay is admirably sparse, focusing on emotional nuance rather than dramatic overtures.
Through this approach, he’s able to plunge deeply into his characters’ inner lives. We feel Una’s swirling grief in her silence, more than if it were spelled out verbally.
Rúnarsson pairs this minimal script with swooning cinematography. Sophia Olsson’s camera floats among the cast like a gentle observer. She caresses them with intimacy and sensitivity, allowing their feelings to blossom subtly onscreen.
There’s also visual poetry in Olsson’s landscapes. She frames Iceland’s natural beauty as something transcendent and cosmic. It provides an elegant architectural framework for Una’s unraveling psychology.
At key moments, Rúnarsson pulls focus from dialogue to simply let his images breathe. A meaningful look passes wordlessly between Una and Klara over a lingering shot. We feel their connection strengthen in stillness.
This sensory approach gives the story room to linger in the viewers’ minds. Rather than transactions moving the plot, we experience profound themes permeating every frame. Time accelerates and slows not for narrative but for emotional truth.
When the light breaks, it shows the power of understatement. With quiet reflection, it says so much about love, loss, and the fleeting nature of life. Rúnarsson proves that less is sometimes the most authentic way to immerse audiences in deeply human stories.
Fragile Grief, Captured beautifully
This film has stayed with me since my first watch. Rúnarsson’s sensitive direction ensures When the Light Breaks sinks gently under your skin.
He grants Elín Hall’s Una space to breathe, avoiding overt expressions but letting her pain whisper from every gesture. Hall is a revelation; you feel her grief like a living thing.
Katla Njálsdóttir too brings Klara to life with an honest, empathetic read. Their relationship, once adversarial, grows into something far more fragile.
Sophia Olsson’s camera seems to know their souls. She cradles Hall and Njálsdóttir in luminous frames, capturing private anguish and the strange solace found in sharing it.
When the Light Breaks tells a simple story but says so much through its spartan delivery. Rúnarsson trusts his talent and Iceland’s natural beauty to do the talking. Both resonate deeply as a result.
This is a small film that feels profound. It lingers with me as few do, a testament to its authenticity. Rúnarsson and company have crafted an elegant, heartbreaking character study that will stay with me always. Even in sparsity, some works transcend.
When the Light Breaks shines with the clarity of raw early grief sincerely expressed. It reminds us that even our smallest tales, told beautifully, can move us the most.
The Review
When the Light Breaks
With sensitive direction and lived-in performances, When the Light Breaks crafts an achingly intimate portrait of loss. Through sparse storytelling, it finds profound humanity in small gestures and glances. Rúnarsson's film lingers in the memory like the ghosts of its characters, haunting yet hauntingly beautiful. It offers no easy answers, only authentic glimpses of grief's complexity.
PROS
- Sensitive direction and cinematography that feel authentic
- Subtle, nuanced performances that invite empathy
- Sparse yet emotionally powerful storytelling
- Evokes the rawness of early grief in a graceful way.
- Lingers in the memory long after viewing
CONS
- A minimal plot may not appeal to all audiences.
- A slow pace may test the patience of some viewers.
- Leave some story details. ambiguous/unexplained
- It could feel short at only 80 minutes for some
