I Did It My Way

A meditative piece on aging, Rúnar Rúnarsson’s 2004 short film The Last Farm, out of Iceland, depicts a situation in which many of us will one day find ourselves in. . . old and decrepit, losing our freedom as we are forced out of our homes for a much more costly imitation of it.

The poster for The Last Farm gives you a good idea of the stark landscape

Hrafn (Jón Sigurbjörnsson) is an elderly man who has done it his way. Loving life on his little plot of farmland, it is stark yet beautiful, cold yet alive – a frigid ocean property surrounded by hilly mountains and dales, the meeting of land and sea picturesque in all of its challenges. . . unspoiled water and terrain for as far as the eye can see.

Though not a glamorous life, it has a serene tranquillity, hard earned decades to be proud of, away from the chaos and distractive thoughtless society that is the city. Along with his wife Gróa (Kristjana Vagnsdottir), who is now sick – spending much of her time napping, it has been a fruitful experience that has brought forth a successful child, enough money to survive, countless memories and a never tiring view that belongs in a painting.

But, with her sickness and his age, their daughter (Ólafía Hrönn Jónsdóttir) has decided to move her parents out of their beloved home and into a lavish retirement facility – that, despite its impressive brochure full of welcoming photos and posh adjectives, is not home.

The couple have the remaining week and weekend, their daughter and son-in-law arriving on Monday to help them make the move. Despite this impending closure of their past life, Hrafn is busy at work, never slowing in his tinkering and preparing. . . a stubborn worker of the land until his last day – you can see how a move to a ‘having everything catered for you’ retirement home would clash with his credo and mind set.

With a powerful ending, The Last Farm, which earned an Oscar nod for Best Short Film, Live Action, carries with it a grave beauty – a study of freedom, independence, life and death; while its landscape is like its story – though filled with a harsh, unforgiving pathos, its poignancy also contains a certain heart, a dichotomous grace that is also found in the bleakly arresting contours of the panorama. Matching the narrative, Rúnarsson, who writes and directs, continuously places the camera in the perfect spot, a panning view of Hrafn’s property towards the end capturing more than any word could ever say (at seventeen minutes in length, the dialogue is more than sparse). . . while the final few angles, featuring an arrival and departure, as well as a pan to the sky, further strengthens the bond between character, story and visuals.

Not to be missed, The Last Farm is an emotional journey through life (impressive in how impactful it is when we are only provided with a short view into their lives). As simple as it is complex, Sigurbjörnsson centres the piece with his stellar, stoic performance – a strong, silent type, despite his age, a lover of life, his independence, and all of its choices. . . a creator and inventor, proud in his every task, including his clothing selections when that Monday comes – everything is measured to perfection. And, let us not forget a certain romance, for both his wife and the land, a person doubly in love.

Lastly, it also speaks to a dying way of life, the departure of youth for a more adventurous world, the excitement of the whizzes, bangs and gizmos that never leave a moment for silent contemplation, for inward retrospection, for time to think it out and recuperate the soul. . . in other words, changing values, a more traditional culture and life fading away – as the title suggests, the last farm, and perhaps, the end of an era.

This film is in Icelandic with English subtitles