Two old Icelandic brothers, one massive beard, and a sheep epidemic. It may sound like the setup for a quirky joke, but it’s in fact an emotional sucker punch delivered by Rams with practically no warning. This isn’t the kind of Nordic Noir that’s characterized by some gruesome serial killer in a remote, dark forest. Instead, Rams strips down to the bare minimum, eliminating dialogue, color, and sentiment, yet it still manages to pack a heavier punch than most thrillers with a triple body count.
Set in a remote farming valley in Iceland, the film tells the story of two estranged brothers who haven’t spoken in decades. Making their predicament even more bizarre is the fact that they live on neighboring sheep farms. However, their cold war gets slightly complicated when a disease outbreak threatens their prized flocks. In the blink of an eye, isolation becomes not just emotional but deeply practical as well. Perhaps what really sells the brief here is how Rams portrays heartbreak in quiet moments and the bleakest of settings. It’s the kind of film where no one says much, but every grunt or glance carries a weighty message. And while it’s about sheep, it equally explores pride, grief, and the sheer stubbornness of love.
The Brothers in ‘Rams’ Are Basically Cain and Abel With Sheep
There’s sibling rivalry, and then there’s what Gummi vs. Kiddi have going on in Rams. The pair haven’t said a word to each other despite living on the same sheep farm. The kicker here is that their silence isn’t a gimmick; it’s full-on biblical. Things reach a whole other level of “uncomfortable” the moment Gummi (Sigurður Sigurjónsson) discovers Kiddi’s (Theódór Júlíusson) prize ram is infected with scrapie and reports it. It’s reminiscent of Cain turning on Abel, except the murder weapon here is an unhealthy combination of bureaucracy and stubbornness. What makes this even sharper is how director Grímur Hákonarson doubles down on repetition to show how locked in these men are.
Gummi inspects sheep; Kiddi drinks. Gummi silently feeds his flock; Kiddi shoots a hole through Gummi’s window. It’s the same actions, but each time they kick things up a notch, like they’re replaying the same argument over and over. But what really nails the Cain and Abel angle is the emotional breakdown. There’s a point where Gummi secretly hides a few healthy sheep, which is against the rules. It’s a lot like the way Cain attempted to dodge divine punishment. And Kiddi, for all his bravado, turns out to be the one who comes to his brother’s rescue when a blizzard hits. The beauty of it all is how Rams takes that ancient brother-versus-brother story and expertly tells it with sheep, silence, and snow.
‘Rams’ Is Quietly One of the Saddest Movies You Will Ever Watch
It’s clear a movie has impact when two grown men barely speak to each other for 90 minutes, and you’re still sitting there with a lump in your throat. Rams is that kind of film, and though it doesn’t raise its voice, it still has the innate ability to leave viewers gutted. It doesn’t get its emotional weight from profound speeches or dramatic throwdowns; it’s all in the little details, like when Gummi finds Kiddi passed out in the snow and, without a word, lifts his drunk brother into a tractor shovel and drives him to safety. There’s no “thank you” or “I’m sorry,” just an old man carrying decades of resentment uphill.
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Since the movie is essentially about sheep, it makes sense that these farm animals carry their own share of the baggage. When Gummi is forced to mercy kill his infected flock—the one thing he lives for—the scene is bathed in silence, except for the bleak sound of sheep being led to their inevitable end. Here, Hákonarson uses body language, blank stares, and the barren Icelandic landscape to say what words can’t. It’s all in the awkward way Gummi watches Kiddi at the community meeting or the way both men pretend the other doesn’t exist, even while clearly listening through walls. Theirs is not just silence; it’s loaded silence. The moment the brothers have somewhat of a chance to mend fences, they only have this silence, and that’s what makes Rams so quietly brutal.
Source : collider.com
