In the opening scenes of
Natatorium, a youthful-looking teenager arrives at a modernist house resembling
a stylish Airbnb. However, the well-furnished residence, dominated by a dark
glacial blue ambiance, reveals itself to be the unsettling abode of her
long-unseen grandparents.
 |
| 'Natatorium' |
Within this secluded universe, estrangement and silence reign supreme, as hinted at by the drama's title, which alludes to an indoor swimming pool. A fitting subtitle might be "Beware of the basement." Yet, even the upper levels fail to provide much solace.
The film revolves around a trio of
female relatives at odds with each other – Lilja, her strong-willed
grandmother, and moderately rebellious aunt. Serving as the catalyst for
forthcoming revelations and conflicts, the 18-year-old outsider arrives from
her island residence, carrying her cello, to stay with these unfamiliar
relatives in the city as she prepares for auditions with a performance group.
Once the narrative unfolds, there's a notable absence of any sense of the
outside world beyond a brief sequence of exterior shots.
Upon Lilja's arrival, various family members react with concern expressed through different tones and expressions. Lilja's father, Magnús, who appears later in the story, contacts his sister Vala, urging her to keep an eye on Lilja. In a reflection of the familial dynamic, Vala's response isn't a simple "Hello," but rather a questioning "Why are you calling me?" Magnús hopes Vala might persuade Lilja to leave the home of Áróra and Grímur. Although his reasons remain unspoken, it becomes evident that direct communication is not a strong suit within this family; talking around issues is preferred.
Among the topics skirted around are
Áróra and Grímur's children, particularly a young girl who passed away years
ago and Kalli, Vala's twin brother, now 28 years old and bedridden. Kalli,
depicted as a fragile figure akin to a Jesus-like character, deteriorates in a
room that mimics medical care but provides none, filled with various items and
Áróra's meticulous record-keeping of vital signs. Áróra proudly presents Kalli
to Lilja upon her arrival, treating him almost like a prized project. However,
it's Magnús' girlfriend Irèna who dares to pose the obvious question: Why isn't
he receiving medical attention in a hospital?
Petersdottir, with her distinct lips and hooded eyes reminiscent of Charlotte Rampling, embodies the character of Áróra with a subtle but palpable menace. Áróra, devoid of irony or humor, commands her husband to "use your words," exuding the aura of a twisted mother superior hunting her prey. There's a pseudo-Christian undertone to her rituals of baptism and penance, which essentially amount to torture. In contrast, Grímur, warm and homey, observes with mild concern as Áróra leads the newly arrived Lilja in some form of prayer. He takes on the role of the nurturing cook, sustaining the madness, while blissfully ignoring it, like many willing enablers.
In defiance of Áróra's austere
religion, there are hints of pagan defiance: the crown of flowers adorning the
ailing Kalli, and the genuine remedies provided by Vala's thriving apothecary.
However, burdened by guilt over her twin's condition, Vala's defiance only
extends so far; she often drinks and turns a blind eye, echoing the refrain
that "he has weak lungs."
Similarly, everyone unanimously
agrees that the basement pool has been empty for years, although few have dared
to investigate. It's as if they're merely repeating distant news headlines.
However, Lilja soon uncovers the truth, perhaps endangering herself in the
process.
The water motif pervades the production design by Snorri Freyr Hilmarsson, utilizing a cold palette and pebbled glass to create a blend of streamlined baroque aesthetics. The pool itself occupies a space between haute décor and nightmare. Kerttu Hakkarainen's camerawork, with its sinuous movements and mounting tension, navigates through the secrets-laden house, complemented by Jacob Groth's score and snippets of Schubert, evoking intertwined feelings of melancholy and suspense.
With only three short films to her
name, writer-director Stefánsdóttir has crafted an impressive debut feature,
assembling a stellar cast and a talented crew behind the scenes. While her
screenplay, partly inspired by Celeste Ramos' short story "Swim" from her self-published
collection "Women in Strange Places,"
could have benefited from tighter storytelling and fewer narrative elements,
there's a compelling transparency to the movie's water symbolism.
Here, we witness characters entangled in an element that most of them refuse to acknowledge. The elaborate costume Lilja wears for her audition, resembling that of a naiad, hints at the upheaval to come, particularly in where she chooses to place it within the house. When Lilja's childhood friend and romantic interest, David, visits her, he sneaks in through a window after the household has fallen asleep, portraying innocence amidst a hostile environment.
In a poignant moment later in the
film, Magnús delivers a devastating line to his sister, suggesting that he may
be the one to dismantle the façade of civility and reveal the truth. However,
after listening to his sister's heartfelt perspective on their shared
experiences, he retreats, responding with bureaucratic detachment akin to
humoring an inconvenient protester.
While individual scenes in "Natatorium" may be frustrating or
leave viewers questioning the characters' self-deception, the cumulative impact
is profound, with significant implications. Elegant yet bizarre, the film tells
a universal tale of self-preserving silence and fear, illustrating how
sometimes, we are led by monsters, whether within a family, a business, or a
society.
