There are three identities that come to mind when I think of Iceland. One is of the vast and breathtaking landscape, which is so obscenely grand it is almost supernatural. The second is the capital of Reykjavík that carried the country’s dark financial gloom not so long ago. The last, slides far down the scale of grandiose into the quaint peaceful life of the villages that surround the country’s perimeter. This is where Nói albino takes place. Far away from civilization, green grass and warm sun. First released in 2003 by Director Dagur Kari, what Nói albino does, is the incredible job of merging the immense and humbling Icelandic landscape with the day to day life of inhabitants who reside in a small fishing village on the west side of the country.
Seventeen-year-old Noi (Tómas Lemarquis) is flunking out of school, he lives with his quirky aging grandmother who prefers a shotgun over an alarm clock for a morning wake up call, and he has built a secret bunker in his grandmother’s cellar. His erratic, alcoholic father seldomly visits, yet when he does his only communication to Noi is through anger, and threats to stay in school and not mess up his life. Things aren’t going well for Noi. As if a dead-beat dad and a bleak future in a remote village wasn’t enough to give a teenager a fair bit of angst, Noi becomes obsessed with Iris, the new gas station attendant. As they become closer, the center of their bond is the mutual hatred of where they are as compared to their growing dream of running off to an exotic land. In a land that is only reachable by water, with a panorama of white snow and blue ice as far as the eye can see, the options for Noi grow narrower as his frustration to break free thickens. Through a series of a events that foretell his fate, Noi is poised to have a reawakening in his darkest moment.