The County review – bleak class struggle in the Icelandic hinterlands

Right from the off, it’s clear that Grimur Hakonarson’s The County won’t be pulling any punches in its portrayal of the hardy lives of remote Icelandic dairy farmers. Opening with a scene in which lead actress Arndís Hrönn Egilsdóttir has to help a cow give entirely unsimulated birth, The County quickly grounds itself in the mucky realities of its world, from the exhausting day to day practicalities of running a farm to the politics one has to play to make any money from their land.

This focus serves as both The County’s foremost strength and weakness. The unvarnished honesty on display immerses you in the film quickly, but the plot’s reliance on contractual disputes and the nitty gritty of Icelandic farming statutes keeps the emotions of the piece at arm’s length. Inga (Egilsdóttir) is one of the farmers under the thumb of the local county farming cooperative, essentially forced to sell her products exclusively to the co-op whilst also having to buy all her farming gear from them.

She’s already fed up of the rules and the price-gouging they allow, but when her husband is killed in a traffic accident, she snaps, declaring a small war on her corrupt local authorities. Her actions make her both a pariah and a hero, and the film follows her efforts to dismantle the current cooperative and create a new one, more open to the business interests of the rest of the country.

It’s a genuinely interesting and wide-ranging conflict. The cooperative behave like the world’s most banal mafia, making veiled threats of rescinding milk orders if they ever see out-of-town fertiliser being delivered, and Inga slowly discovers the full extent of the hold they have on all the farms around her. They make for some effective villains, but their arguments – primarily that reliance on capitalist businesses has badly burned Icelanders in the past – hold true. Either way, some sort of hardship is inevitable, even if some of those hardships come with the reward of greater freedom.

It’s a bleak proposition either way, one faced by small-time farmers across the world, and Hakonarson sets a suitably stony-faced tone. His previous film, Rams, was an acerbic comedy, but The County is more sincere and understated, acknowledging the tragedy of dwindling rural opportunities in his country. Though Inga’s house and farm are surrounded by stunning vistas and wide open spaces, most of the action takes place in cramped, poorly-lit rooms, a neat visual reflection of the trap she finds herself in.

These dim and grim settings can become rather tiresome in practice, however, and the occasional explosions of emotion from Inga or her fellow farmers come and go without having much of an impact. Egilsdóttir’s strong performance carries the more obvious dramatic beats, but these climactic set-pieces or confrontations aren’t as engaging as the simpler stuff, as much as the bombastic soundtrack tries to convince you otherwise.

As a study of class struggle and community spirit in the hinterlands, The County is effective. Even if the bittersweet finale does feel rather contrived, there is cathartic fun to be had rooting for Inga’s success.

The County is now available to rent on Curzon Home Cinema.