The Guardian um lokaþætti „Ófærðar“: Magnþrungið, myrkt og afar snjallt

Ólafur Darri Ólafson og Ilmur Kristjánsdóttir í Ófærð. (Ljósmynd Lilja Jonsdottir-RVK Studios)
Ólafur Darri Ólafsson og Ilmur Kristjánsdóttir í Ófærð. (Ljósmynd Lilja Jonsdottir-RVK Studios)

Ellie Violet Bramley skrifar á The Guardian um lokaþætti Ófærðar sem sýndir voru á BBC4 um helgina og dregur hvergi af sér. Hún segir lokauppgjörið hafa verið frábærlega taugatrekkjandi og seríuna í heild afar vel heppnaða, auk þess sem hún virðist fastlega gera ráð fyrir annarri umferð.

Bramley segir meðal annars:

This was a brilliantly tense finale to what has been a subtly compelling and breathlessly claustrophobic series. As the snow turned to sludge, the roads reopened and the ferry was allowed on its way at last, the sordid plottings of the town’s triad came to light. And with them, the fabric of this isolated community – superficially tight-knit but actually sheet-thin – began to melt. Families disintegrated, affairs were laid bare and years-old abuse cases, covered up by the powers-that-be, were finally unearthed.

Bramley segir ennfremur:

With the town’s unravelling, we are treated to some gruellingly bleak confrontations. When Andri ploddingly hunts down his (not quite?) ex-father-in-law, having found the incriminating key in his jeans, damp with kerosene, there were no pyrotechnics. Eiríkur downs tools, descends the stairs and puts a pot of coffee on the stove. As he tells Andri how, in a cruel twist of fate, he was the one who signed off on the insurance claim that profited the very men responsible for the death of his daughter, a glassy tear is suspended in his eye, waiting patiently for its moment and falling only once it’s ready. It’s in the slowness of this scene that the drama lies; this is no high-octane showdown and it’s all the more mesmerising for it.

When Andri breaks the news to the rest of the family that Eiríkur was the one who popped Hrafn off, we watch from outside – through the window, almost as if into a dolls’ house – while Agnes clutches the walls. We hear not a peep of the exchange until she opens the window, steps outside and the sound of her mother running water from the tap penetrates the silence. The wordlessness makes the scene all the more heart-wrenching. The drama is swiftly brought back down to earth with the crushingly domestic: “Pack your bags … you can’t expect mum to keep cooking and cleaning for you.”

This series has, at times, been one of men butting heads, breaking glass and doing deals. Even now-gentle Andri is not guilt-free – his murkier past becomes clear in these final episodes, a past in which he made bad mistakes on a case and he and Trausti, the Reykjavik police city-slicker, came to debilitating blows. Agnes’s words back in episode seven were telling: “Trausti’s been in town for five minutes and you’re already behaving like an ogre.”

This doesn’t sound like the Andri we’ve come to know and love (yes, love – I’m now a fully paid-up member of the fanclub). And here’s hoping that Andri’s “real me”, at home with “real detective work” – the fact he even uttered the words back in episode seven without sounding like a Dove advert was testament to Ólafsson’s acting – is something we will get to see more of in a second season.

Sjá nánar hér: Trapped: the finale review – gruelling, bleak and breathlessly brilliant | Television & radio | The Guardian

Klapptré er sjálfstæður miðill sem birtir fréttir, viðhorf, gagnrýni og tölulegar upplýsingar um íslenska kvikmynda- og sjónvarpsbransann. Ritstjóri er Ásgrímur Sverrisson.