Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang
Drama can’t get more elemental than this.
Director/co-scripter Joe Penna’s Arctic is a grim survival saga anchored by a sensational performance by Mads Mikkelsen. It’s minimalist acting stripped to its basics: Almost no dialog emerges during this 97-minute nail-biter, for the obvious reason that Mikkelsen’s character has nobody to talk to.
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| Whenever the harsh weather relents, Overgård (Mads Mikkelsen) leaves the shelter of his downed plane in order to complete the "chores" necessary for his ongoing survival. Unfortunately, his daily ritual is about to change, and quite suddenly. |
And yet we intimately bond with him during cinematographer Tómas Örn Tómasson’s stark opening tableau, and thereafter — our teeth clenched, breath held, heart in mouth — every resolute step of the way.
The bleak question hovering over such films is obvious: Will a courageous struggle be rewarded with rescue? The recent track record is mixed. 2003’s Open Water tortured us before a thoroughly reprehensible outcome; 2013’s All is Lost put Robert Redford — and us — through hell before a more satisfying conclusion. (2015’s The Revenant had many more characters in play.)
It must be noted, though, that the two ocean-bound thrillers involved people who weren’t well equipped to deal with their catastrophic circumstances. That isn’t true of Mikkelsen’s Overgård, introduced well into an extended crisis (weeks? months?) that — so far — he has been managing reasonably well.
He’s a pilot, perhaps part of a search-and-rescue unit, whose plane apparently crashed during some earlier operation. Penna and co-scripter Ryan Morrison don’t bother with flashbacks that might explain such details, as they’re inconsequential. The plane can’t fly with a crippled wing, but the intact fuselage provides adequate shelter … albeit unheated.
The passage of time is maintained, in this snow-blasted landscape, by a watch set to beep at meticulously recorded intervals. Overgård’s daily rituals are marked by ice fishing, at which he’s quite proficient; shoveling snow off a massive SOS, easily visible to any aircraft that might pass overhead; carefully tending to a curiously small pyramid of rocks; and dutifully sending a distress signal via a hand-cranked generator.
In a sense, he’s no different than the sole inhabitant of a desert island. On the plus side, he’ll never want for water; on the other hand, he’s slowly being crippled by frostbite.
The landscape is beautiful in its ice- and snow-blasted emptiness; we can tell, from Overgård’s occasionally admiring gaze, that he hasn’t lost his appreciation for these surroundings. (The film was shot on a volcanic plateau in the highlands of Iceland, reputed to be the harshest survivable environment on Earth. I don’t doubt it.)
At the same time, Mikkelsen’s expression is calculating; we understand that Overgård continually analyzes and weighs his only two options: stay … or try to walk out.
Then, suddenly, the decision is made for him.
