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“Lamb” begins with a prologue that takes place during a Christmas Eve blizzard and is shot from the perspective of an unknown creature breathing heavily. The mysterious and unseen entity moves toward a farm where a barn holds a herd of sheep. The breathing gets louder and is accompanied by menacing music.

When the entity enters the barn, the sheep are startled, and their attention is drawn to the breathing. The loud breathing continues as the film shifts from the barn to a house where the audience first sees the main character María (Noomi Rapace) looking out into the blizzard.

The monster’s unseen presence not only creates suspense and dread, but also foreshadows that María and her husband, Ingvar’s (Hilmir Snær Guðnason) time as parents will come to a fairly quick end in Valdimar Jóhannsson’s directorial debut.

The film, which premiered at the 2021 Cannes Film Festival in the “Un Certain Regard” section, follows farming couple María and Ingvar raising a half-human half-lamb hybrid newborn born to one of the sheep on the farm. As the two parents take in and raise Ada, the supernatural forces that created the hybrid are set on getting her back.

“Lamb” blends elements of supernatural horror and pastoral family drama to create a terrifying yet somber tale about love, parenthood and selfishness. The film’s suspenseful gray and muted ambiance, as well as the reserved, quiet characters, are very reminiscent of other great recent horror films like “The Witch” and “The Lighthouse.” But the chilling backdrop of rural Iceland gels seamlessly with the feel-good nature of the family plotline.

The Icelandic film is broken up into three chapters, and the audience grows more on-edge in each chapter. The sense of horror builds simultaneously with the love between the couple during the hour and 46-minute runtime. And by the end of the film, you will feel a sense of shock, horror and sadness all at once.

The first chapter introduces María and Ingvar, who live and work together on their farm. They are the only two residents, with no children. Their daily tasks include taking care of their sheep and using their tractor to farm the land.

Their relationship, much like the Icelandic environment around them, is cold and distant. There is a distinct feeling of loss and melancholy between the two. During meals, María and Ingvar barely look at each other and talk sporadically.

Cinematographer Eli Arenson uses extreme wide shots of the mountain landscape surrounding the farm to accentuate the sense of isolation and loneliness. Initially, this feels like a sorrowful film with almost no sense of terror.

That all changes with the introduction of newborn Ada. María is immediately drawn to her and takes care of the hybrid child like a human baby, even waking up in the middle of the night to watch over her. While Ingvar is initially hesitant to fully love Ada, he too comes around. They feel a renewed purpose in life as parents to Ada, and you can see and feel the happiness vibrating from the family.

As Ada grows, she wears a bright yellow sweater that starkly contrasts the grayness of their environment. This contrast in colors breaks through to make the film look and feel happier. Though Ada’s appearance of having a lamb head and a human body comes off as visually unsettling or scary, you truly start to feel a genuine connection to the child.

The joy felt by the two parents eventually brings them closer together. María and Ingvar have better conversations, smile more at each other and eventually, they become intimate. But the happiness doesn’t stop with the two main characters.

The second chapter introduces Ingvar’s brother Pétur (Björn Hlynur Haraldsson), who arrives at the farm shocked by Ada. Despite initially questioning the hybrid, Pétur soon becomes an uncle-figure for Ada, taking her on tractor rides and going fishing. This parade of happy moments culminates in the whole family watching a sporting event together, the first time in the film where the characters truly seemed like a loving family.

However, this renewed purpose and sense of care also comes off as selfish desire. When Ada’s biological sheep mother constantly bleats outside of the home, María kills the sheep. She yells at other lambs to stay away from her and her daughter.

When the human characters are on screen, the film is mostly shot with a very shallow focus. This blurs the background and midground of the shot, implying that Ingvar’s and María’s desires are all that matter. Even Pétur has selfish motives and makes multiple sexual advances towards María, forcing him away from the family.

This selfishness eventually comes back to hurt the couple. María starts to have nightmares of devilish lambs, and the unknown creature from the beginning of the film starts to make its presence more known.

In the last 15 minutes, the audience finally sees the monster, who is Ada’s biological father. He makes Ingvar, Ada’s new father, pay for his and his wife’s selfishness by killing him.

Many horror films have tried and failed over the years to add elements of other genres into their own. But Jóhannsson and fellow screenwriter Sjón are able to find a happy medium of drama and horror. The climax finally comes when the feelings of dread collide with growing joy, resulting in a horrifying and confounding conclusion. And as the credits roll to George Frideric Handel’s “Sarabande in D Minor,” that mix of emotions will keep you thinking about the film long after you leave the theater.

Published on October 11, 2021 at 9:43 pm