This series really didn't have me convinced until I had completed the last episode.
First off I must mention that as a native Icelandic speaker I found the conversations quite stiff at times, both the acting and the actual dialog.
There were also details like two scientist in a cabin monitoring an ongoing eruption that would be the biggest one in Iceland in centuries, and the third one (Darri) having to go there to read out some seismic graphs. Uhm, the director and writer should know that this data can all be read remotely from the Met office HQ in Reykjavík. So some of the "setups" were a bit clumsy, but they put the players and pawns in the positions they needed to be in for the story to roll.
I also have to agree with some users saying that a lot of the times the character's actions, conversations and questions (or lack there of) didn't make sense to me. That is, until afterwards when I realized these things didn't matter. Sometimes they weren't logical, because they weren't really supposed to be so.
Warning, spoilers;
There are hints throughout that suggest the whole thing should be considered like more of a dream. A couple of characters say that they feel they're in a dream they can't wake up from. In dreams we experience happiness, loss and grief a bit differently than in waking life, and we can also spend time with loved ones that are departed from this world. The obvious metaphor for the dead boy and the dead sister are there, but what about the "clones" of people that were still alive? Gunnhild (the Swedish lady) and Gríma?
Let me run through what I think each "clone" stands for and why they were there; Gunnhild came back to help Þór to some extent deal with losing the true love of his life, which was young Gunnhild. The suicide of his wife probably affected him, but he obviously wasn't in love with her. But I think this was only a minor part in Gunnhild's purpose, her greater purpose was to lead Þór and his son Björn together, and for older Gunnhild to come to terms with and understand that her son's (Björn´s) handicap wasn't her fault.
The Magnea clone was her sick self's liberator. Her jail was no less real than the jail in the basement. Did she really deny to be relocated to Reykjavík, or was her husband lying about that?
Gríma said her sister Ása came back to help her overcome the grief of Ása's death and in the same way Mikael (the little boy) came back to help his parents come to terms with his death, that nothing could bring him back. If ever I've seen a heartbraking moment in tv/film, it's when he told his mother he stepped in front of the car on purpose, that he, a 8 year old boy wanted to die. It was also brutal as hell when the parents killed the "clone".
But what about Gríma? I, like some other reviewers, was frustrated at why Gríma didn't introduce her husband to the clone Gríma. But I first understood that it was all metaphoric when he walked in on them and he only saw one Gríma. That was farther cemented in the Gríma Russian roulette scene. Gríma's husband had told Gríma that he's just going to milk the cows and then he'll be back inside to help her paint the bedroom. Milking the cows doesn't take so much time that the other Gríma would have had time to clean up the brains and blood and dump the body. What this scene was about was Gríma deciding which one of her personalities should live on, because there obviously wasn't room for both. The "colnes" weren't exact replicas of the people they represented, they were only based on the memories of other people. Mikael was the memory of his father, Gunnhild was the memory of Þór (she literally said she had been with Þór), Magnea was the memory of her husband, Ása was the meomoy of Gríma but also Gríma was the memory of her self, of how she used to be before losing Ása, and with her the joy of life, the love for her husband and the will to live.
When Ása and young Gunnhild dissapear again nobody really seems to bothered about it. Perhaps because they were never really there.
I just wish they wouldn't have explained it by an alien meteor, but I guess they needed some premise for the supernatural beings.
First off I must mention that as a native Icelandic speaker I found the conversations quite stiff at times, both the acting and the actual dialog.
There were also details like two scientist in a cabin monitoring an ongoing eruption that would be the biggest one in Iceland in centuries, and the third one (Darri) having to go there to read out some seismic graphs. Uhm, the director and writer should know that this data can all be read remotely from the Met office HQ in Reykjavík. So some of the "setups" were a bit clumsy, but they put the players and pawns in the positions they needed to be in for the story to roll.
I also have to agree with some users saying that a lot of the times the character's actions, conversations and questions (or lack there of) didn't make sense to me. That is, until afterwards when I realized these things didn't matter. Sometimes they weren't logical, because they weren't really supposed to be so.
Warning, spoilers;
There are hints throughout that suggest the whole thing should be considered like more of a dream. A couple of characters say that they feel they're in a dream they can't wake up from. In dreams we experience happiness, loss and grief a bit differently than in waking life, and we can also spend time with loved ones that are departed from this world. The obvious metaphor for the dead boy and the dead sister are there, but what about the "clones" of people that were still alive? Gunnhild (the Swedish lady) and Gríma?
Let me run through what I think each "clone" stands for and why they were there; Gunnhild came back to help Þór to some extent deal with losing the true love of his life, which was young Gunnhild. The suicide of his wife probably affected him, but he obviously wasn't in love with her. But I think this was only a minor part in Gunnhild's purpose, her greater purpose was to lead Þór and his son Björn together, and for older Gunnhild to come to terms with and understand that her son's (Björn´s) handicap wasn't her fault.
The Magnea clone was her sick self's liberator. Her jail was no less real than the jail in the basement. Did she really deny to be relocated to Reykjavík, or was her husband lying about that?
Gríma said her sister Ása came back to help her overcome the grief of Ása's death and in the same way Mikael (the little boy) came back to help his parents come to terms with his death, that nothing could bring him back. If ever I've seen a heartbraking moment in tv/film, it's when he told his mother he stepped in front of the car on purpose, that he, a 8 year old boy wanted to die. It was also brutal as hell when the parents killed the "clone".
But what about Gríma? I, like some other reviewers, was frustrated at why Gríma didn't introduce her husband to the clone Gríma. But I first understood that it was all metaphoric when he walked in on them and he only saw one Gríma. That was farther cemented in the Gríma Russian roulette scene. Gríma's husband had told Gríma that he's just going to milk the cows and then he'll be back inside to help her paint the bedroom. Milking the cows doesn't take so much time that the other Gríma would have had time to clean up the brains and blood and dump the body. What this scene was about was Gríma deciding which one of her personalities should live on, because there obviously wasn't room for both. The "colnes" weren't exact replicas of the people they represented, they were only based on the memories of other people. Mikael was the memory of his father, Gunnhild was the memory of Þór (she literally said she had been with Þór), Magnea was the memory of her husband, Ása was the meomoy of Gríma but also Gríma was the memory of her self, of how she used to be before losing Ása, and with her the joy of life, the love for her husband and the will to live.
When Ása and young Gunnhild dissapear again nobody really seems to bothered about it. Perhaps because they were never really there.
I just wish they wouldn't have explained it by an alien meteor, but I guess they needed some premise for the supernatural beings.