Let Me Fall (2018)

Let Me Fall, Baldvin Zophoniasson’s third feature, is aptly named, as Baldvin Z chooses to portray addiction in a way that is rarely depicted: as a form of suicide, albeit on a very long fuse. Be warned going in, this is a film entirely devoid of hope. It is not a film about recovery. It is a film about a human being for whom recovery simply isn’t a possibility.

First and foremost, Let Me Fall’s single greatest asset is the spectacular, hypnotising and utterly heartbreaking performances from its four main leads: Elín Sif Halldórsdóttir, Kristín Þóra Haraldsdóttir, Eyrún Björk Jakobsdóttir and Lára Jóhanna Jónsdóttir. In particular, Halldórsdóttir and Haraldsdóttir both bring a tragic weight to lead character Magnea (each play Magnea at earlier and later stages of her life), with Halldórsdóttir undergoing a gradual and astounding transformation from a bright thirteen year old into what will become the husk of a person played by Haraldsdóttir.

This isn’t to say that these performances overshadow any other. Another of Let Me Fall’s strongest elements is the frankly incredible amount of depth given to almost every character, even those who seem to be on screen for mere minutes. Through subtle gestures and what could easily be interpreted as throwaway comments, every character feels truly distinct and are each given a complex history all of their own. As a result not a single moment of Let Me Fall’s pretty hefty runtime (two hours and sixteen minutes) feels unnecessary.

This perpetual feeling of hopeless emptiness is aided by the film’s non-linear narrative. There are moments throughout Let Me Fall that, in any other film, would appear to be glimmers of hope, but here act as depressing reminders that happiness might have once been an option for Magnea, if we didn’t already know how her story ends. There’s rarely a moment that goes past in Let Me Fall that won’t leave you wanting to scream at the screen, hoping you can help Magnea somehow.

Let Me Fall is shot beautifully, with every image having a washed out quality that evokes that long walk home after three days without sleep, the party long having ceased to be fun. The only difference here being that Magnea’s come down never ends and she’s incapable of seeing that the party’s stopped being fun until it’s too late. The camera remains glued to Magnea and Stella throughout, lingering so close to each of them that it often leaves you feeling claustrophobic. In clumsier hands this could feel voyeuristic, but instead Baldvin Z allows Let Me Fall to take on the feel of a documentary – which, of course, makes sense given just how brutally honest and painfully realistic this film is from start to finish.

It would be far too easy to describe Let Me Fall as nihilistic, but that simply isn’t the case. Make no mistake, this film is unrelentingly brutal and hopeless. But that is very much the world of addiction, and far too many addicts never get the opportunity to recover. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t turn away at times whilst watching this film, in fact I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to leave altogether. Let Me Fall is a stunning, virtually flawless piece of cinema. And I will never watch it again.

Director: Baldvin Zophoníasson
Writers: Birgir Örn Steinarsson, Baldvin Zophoníasson
Stars: Elín Sif Halldórsdóttir, Eyrún Björk Jakobsdóttir, Lára Jóhanna Jónsdóttir