Gummi Bahs
The perfect tale for a cold winter’s night, Rams tells the story of two brothers. Their names are terribly long and Icelandic, so let’s call them Gummi and Kiddi, which makes t hem sound l i ke lesser- known cousins of the Marx brothers.
They are sheep farmers who have lived on the same scrubby patch of farmland their entire lives, raising sheep. For reasons that are never made clear, they hate each other and have not spoken for 40 years. ( Going out on a limb here, but I think their tiff might be sheep- related.) Their only communication is by written note, carried by Somi, their trusted sheepdog.
Drama — and more than a little dark comedy — ensues when Kiddi’s ram wins first place at a local contest that includes beer and sheep- related poetry readings. Never let it be said Icelanders don’t know how to live. Gummi’s animal places second on a technicality.
Gummi has a look at the winner, and detects what he thinks are signs of scrapie, the ovine form of mad cow disease. He contacts the authorities, and before you know it the entire valley has been quarantined, with all herds slated for destruction; this will spell the end of the bloodline from which both brothers’ prized rams sprang.
Needless to say, the siblings are now even more at odds. Kiddi, the more impulsive of the two, hits the bottle. Gummi, whom writer/ director Grímur Hákonarson makes the more sympathetic, calmly finds his own way to carry on, though it’s clear in his moments alone that his earlier rash act weighs on him.
Rams won the Un Certain Regard prize at Cannes last year, and more recently made the rounds of Canadian festivals, touching down in Toronto, Vancouver and Edmonton. At its heart it’s a tender story with a fuzzy exterior; a sheep in sheep’s clothing, if you will. ΩΩΩ½