Reedland Review

A Slow Moving but Thoughtful Exploration of Our Fears of the Unknown

By: Marc Kozak

Reedland

A Slow Moving but Thoughtful Exploration of Our Fears of the Unknown

By: Marc Kozak

The first fifteen minutes of Sven Bresser's "Reedland" is deceptively soothing, lulling you into an almost dreamlike state by simply showing the daily routine of a reed farmer working the fields. No dialogue is needed to give a clear picture of what Johan is all about — a somber man toiling in solitude, his face weathered by years of repeating the same daily cycle of labor, content in his familiar life of simplicity. It's a leisurely paced sequence that may test the patience of those unaccustomed to slow cinema, but it serves as an effective demonstration of the kind of life that Johan wants to preserve.

When Johan finds the dead body of a young girl on his land, it starts to seem like his quiet life is under threat from all sides. The police are more than happy to pin the murder on the "Trooters," a troublesome group of people from the other side of the lake. Johan isn't content to let things stand and starts to look into the matter himself, leading him on an interior quest to discover the evil that lurks within his neighbors, his own heart, and the very land itself.

Bresser's confident debut film, selected as the Dutch entry in the Best International Feature Film category for the upcoming 98th Academy Awards, is a compelling anti-thriller that swerves from the usual trappings of a murder mystery, choosing instead to explore the effect of violence on the inner landscape of its central character. Anchored by a remarkably natural performance by Gerrit Knobbe, a non-actor and real-life reed cutter, "Reedland" is interested in the intersection of evil, mankind, and nature — can there be a sinister intent in the dirt underneath the waving fields of reeds, and can it bleed into those who walk upon it? These weighty questions bubble under the surface of a deceivingly simple narrative that holds great rewards for those willing and attentive enough to engage with Bresser's slow-moving and often ambiguous style.

" Bresser's confident debut film is a compelling anti-thriller that swerves from the usual trappings of a murder mystery, choosing instead to explore its effect on the inner landscape of its central character. "

Johan goes about his days with minimal human interaction, mostly limited to taking care of his granddaughter, Dana (Lois Reinders). His work is performed primarily in isolation, as we see him routinely piling up and burning giant bunches of reeds. He does his work, he feeds his horse, he eats a simple meal, and he goes to bed — the classic life of a farmer. Like all farmers, he struggles with the economic realities of the industry. Demand for reeds as a source of roofing material has decreased, and there is strong competition from Chinese imports. Johan attends a local government meeting with other farmers who express concern about new policies and rent agreements that make their situation even more untenable. They are told that they must adapt to the times; it simply is what it is.

Johan is also extremely set in his ways, too stubborn to embrace modern technology and expensive equipment that would make his life easier. He angrily refuses to take out any more loans, either from his daughter or the bank; he is going to do things his way, even if it kills him. He, and many of his fellow farmers, derive their identity from the way their families have farmed for generations. They struggle to protect their way of life from what they see as an attack, even if they can't really understand the capitalistic underpinnings of the system that's attacking them. It's easier to lash out at things they can understand — outsiders from other countries or even other neighborhoods just beyond their own.

Johan's discovery of the murdered girl also gets him thinking about himself in a way that he likely never has before. He becomes aware of his loneliness and does some online exploration of a sex chat service. He worries about the safety of the young neighborhood girls who walk the fields on the way to and from school but also appears to have a growing attraction to a young teenager who runs in the same circles as his granddaughter. These things don't sit right with Johan, who is uncomfortable with the idea of desire in general; he'd likely rather spend time amongst the indifferent reeds than try and have a conversation with a member of the younger generation, whose wants and worldviews he can't even begin to understand. These things start to make him feel like he might be evil himself.

Johan is looking for a way to combat all of this change in himself and his community, so he decides to play amateur detective and find the murderer of the girl he found in his field. He isn't really good at it (as the police politely tell him when he tries to send them tips) and eventually ends up blaming the son of his nearest neighbor, another family of reed farmers who are undercutting his own prices due to their use of modern tractors. The movie never really gives a definitive answer as to the son's guilt — again, the "murder mystery" isn't really the point — but Johan's haphazard investigation only ends up making things worse for himself.

And what of the land itself? Can land be guilty of evil? Bresser delves into slightly surreal imagery and somewhat confounding symbolism in the film's back half, using the discovery of tar or oil in the fields to represent the land's evil. At one point, a chunk of this black stuff is found in Johan's washing machine. We don't know how it got there or why, but Johan inexplicably takes it to a nearby pond and drops it in, before quickly running back and fishing it back out again. Is this Johan initially sending the evil back to the land from whence it came? Did he have a change of heart and attempt to remove this evil from the land? It's hard to say, and there are no ready answers. These detours away from the film's stark realism are interesting and add a bit of flavor but don't always come off and can be a bit frustrating, often derailing any momentum that might have been building beforehand.

Still, "Reedland" is about things that are left unseen and unsaid; it isn't driven forward by action or the supernatural. Bresser's debut encourages us to confront our own fears of the unknown, whether they stem from other people, our environment, or the nagging thoughts we have about ourselves. It's an all too timely message in a modern world full of such fears, where threats seem to be lurking in every shadow or even in broad daylight. "Reedland" suggests that working to know yourself is the first step to understanding your relationships with your neighbors and nature itself; not everything is evil out there, after all.