The Last Autumn
Directed by Yrsa Roca Fannberg
Written by Yrsa Roca Fannberg and Elin Agla Briem
Runtime: 1 hour, 18 minutes
Available VOD June 30th

by Joe Carlough, Staff Writer

The Last Autumn is a stark evocation of a landscape both beautiful and haunting, and the few farmers who live quiet lives between the mountains and the Arctic Ocean of Northwest Iceland. The film follows Úlfar and Oddny, an aging couple of sheep farmers whose family–including their children and grandchildren, all currently living in the city and away from the farm–reconvenes in autumn to collect the sheep: each summer, sheep in Iceland are allowed out to roam the island, eat freely as they wish, and wander the mountains before returning home in the fall. The Last Autumn presents a quiet reflection of a quiet life, replete with the gentle humanity of everyday situations, the enjoyment found in good, hard work, and the fear and sadness for a way of life that feels like it’s slowly becoming obsolete.

The true beauty of the film lies in director Yrsa Roca Fannberg’s decision to let each scene breathe: at a meal, Úlfar and Oddny share fried fish and mashed potatoes, commenting on the quality of the fish which “didn’t go bad in the sun at all,” before sharing large bowls of skyr and berries in a manner so natural and precise that the scene feels choreographed. In a way it is: a life so intimately shared will feature many moments that repeat each day until they are ritual.

Despite the quietude of their days, the couple are constantly surrounded by conversation, whether it be with each other, a one-sided conversation with their dog, Loppa, who is so tuned into Úlfar that he seems to understand every word, or the din of the radio behind them, doling out news of recent deaths among the countryside and musing on the future of the Icelandic language and culture in an increasingly English world. Sometimes the only sound is the waves crashing on the shore downhill from the farm, or the gentle roar of the wind blowing across the hills. By the end of the film, I found Úlfar and Oddny’s company so comfortable that I wished to livestream their days into my office so I could sit quietly with them while we all went about our work. Were Oddny to offer to show me her book of photography–she’s often caught outside with her camera, capturing the reykur, the þoka, the mist as it swirls around the bay and the islands–I’d gladly accept

The action of the film comes during a tense few minutes when Úlfar’s family and friends come to help with the rettir, the round-up, herding the sheep back home: to the backdrop of a devastating soundtrack from Gyða Valtysdóttir, the sheep are corralled down steep mountainsides and rocky terrain by the crews and their sheepdogs, calling frantically to each other by radio and running the flock towards the farm. It brings to mind the scene from Planet Earth in which a snow leopard hunts a mountain goat on a sheer rock face: watching the sheep run down mountainsides is exhilarating enough while watching the movie, I can only imagine the adrenaline pumping throughout the crew as they guide the sheep back home. It’s a stunning sight, watching this once-quiet farm suddenly burst to life with sheep: in my ignorance I expected a flock of maybe a couple dozen, and was stupefied to see maybe sixty, maybe more! 

Part gentle reflection on retirement and a life of good, solid work, part diary of a couple keeping to a lifestyle that’s slowly vanishing, and part poetic vision of an impossibly beautiful landscape, The Last Autumn is nearly solemn in its reverence to its subjects, buoyed by moments of genial connection and the humor of the everyday, captured particularly well in the moments when Úlfar cares for his dog, Loppa, and his sheep. As Úlfar and Oddny prepare for a life beyond sheep farming, I can’t help but remember a scene early in the film, when Úlfar is untangling a fishing net: “I think it’s hopeless,” he says, “just a hopeless tangle. Not sure what page this is on in the big book of tangles.” The Last Autumn leaves us wondering how easy it will be for Úlfar to untangle his new life after giving up the farm. Personally? I think he’s going to find solace in his retirement, the same as he did in his work.