The cold and detached opening of Natatorium follows a teen girl traveling to the city from her island home and entering a posh, neo-gothic estate. This house, which is as removed an aesthetic as the plucky girl’s appearance, is her grandparents’ home. The girl is Lilja (Ilmur María Arnarsdóttir), and she is the audience’s conduit into a complicated family dynamic between her grandparents, her dad, her aunt, and her uncle. Lilja’s entrance into this house is her crossing that threshold, and in the basement of this threshold is an indoor swimming pool. 

 

Natatorium is an Icelandic drama/thriller from writer/director Helena Stefánsdóttir. This film is her auspicious feature debut after crafting a series of shorts. There are some solid Scandinavian sensibilities at work here, and they appear in the opening sequence and run at high gear throughout the film’s duration. These delicacies inform us of the tenuous balance of power in this family. But more on those later. The grandmother Áróra (Elin Petersdottir) and grandfather Grímur (Valur Freyr Einarsson) run opposite in presentation and etiquette. Áróra is cold and imposing, imbuing matriarchal steadiness with subtle Christian righteousness. Grímur is warm, always cooking something in the kitchen, and remains blissfully ignorant of his wife’s penchant for obligatory prayer and ritual. They beguile their granddaughter Lilja, who has come to stay at their home as she prepares to audition for a troupe and practice her cello.  

 

Vala (Stefanía Berndsen) is the often defiant daughter of Áróra and a rebellious aunt to Lilja. She drinks, she smokes, she questions. She becomes more involved and present than usual at her parent’s home after Lilja arrives at the request of her brother, Lilja’s father, Magnús (Arnar Dan Kristjánsson). Another occupant of the house is Vala’s twin, Lilja’s uncle, Kalli (Jónas Alfred Birkisson). He is bedridden and is reminiscent of a dying Jesus. Áróra keeps him as more of a science project than a patient, a pet to reflect Áróra’s power and authority. Every so often, Áróra takes Kalli to the basement indoor swimming pool to re-baptize and reaffirm Kalli’s impotent allegiance to her. 

 

Magnús, who makes a late appearance in the film, also shares Vala’s sobriety. They both carry strong resentment for their mother. These feelings are born from an incident that is hinted at by yet another sibling, a sister whom Lilja is named after, who passed away years ago. This feeling of dread and warning is the dark cloud that wafts over every scene in this movie. The incident responsible for the death of their sister Lilja is a threat that is carried into the present by Kalli’s unfortunate bedridden circumstances. Magnús and Vala are cautious that Áróra’s influence will eventually infect Lilja, and they even share almost conspiratorial scenes. Magnús is a cold and distant character who is well removed from the regulatory control of his parents, yet still models an err of remote command of his daughter, echoing his own conditioning. 

  

These exchanges and character beats all tiptoe around the elephant in the room, or rather the elephant in the basement. The natatorium, which Vala and Magnús refer to as some crime scene in the distant past, is mentioned as being empty and out of use. Lilja knows otherwise, not only having witnessed Áróra take Kalli into the pool for reprogramming but also sneaking in her boyfriend to enjoy a midnight splash. 

 

Natatorium is a compelling and gripping film because its story of control via Munchausen syndrome by proxy is infused with a haunting score by Jacob Groth and Kerttu Hakkarainen’s cinematography that floats between gothic chic and an intimate noir serial. This is a slow film; it takes time to roll out the dread slowly and crank the tension. The explicit blocking and framing of core scenes amplifies the Scandinavian sensibilities I mentioned earlier. Some characters are pushed out of frame or are deliberately sat at a table to suggest their incapability to change what is. Where there should be reconciliation and catharsis, there is only a repetition and reconfirmation to toe the line and follow the pack. This film explores our sometimes uncomfortable and compulsory need to recognize the issue without taking action to solve it. Helena Stefánsdóttir deftly filmed examining those awkward relationships, where people secretly scheme to face the group with smiles or silence. This film’s pacing may be a chore but delivers an explosive, effectual payoff.