The Hour of the Lynx

An excellent disturbing prologue, but the next hour or so was lazy. Unclear motivations of the characters, very convulsive work with a retrospective that pretends to be tied to one of the characters, all whilst cheerfully mixing perspectives. An unnecessarily melodramatic voice over, uncertainty about how to actually perceive The Hour of the Lynx - as a detective story? a thriller? a psychological drama? The traditionally very civil and subdued Sofia and Kragh-Jacobsen, who is manneristically enchanting with the connection of detail and the soundtrack, color and environment, both keep it up to par. There is nothing in it beyond art exhibition, but at least it looks nice. Then comes the point, which in the true sense of the word is redemption, for the characters and the viewer. A magnificent film in a film composed of short fragments, clearly demarcated images, lyrical verses about love born of swearing captured in an almost fairy-tale composition, where wires running into nothingness touch the voice of the divine. The Scandinavian concept of spirituality and at the same time a taciturn milkman. Things are finally starting to make sense, the question is whether it may be too little late. The point is again pushed into the last piece of knowledge spoken aloud. It’s too bad, because greater economy of expression and more fragmentation would suit it better. Also because all of the attempts at causality end confusingly and half-heartedly in The Hour of the Lynx. In the end, the best aspect is the cruel spiritual core of the whole story, which I admit got to me. (03/21/2014)