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The yearning separations of seafaring life have generated many a romantic ghost story, and while it largely takes place on terra firma, the Danish “No Rest for the Wicked” provides an honorable addition to that roster. Kaspar Kalle’s assured debut feature, drawn from an 1884 story by German author Karl Heinrich Ulrichs — a very early proponent for gay rights — walks a sometimes murky line between love story and horror. But the more sinister aspects ultimately turn out to be deliberate misdirection in this tale of two men who find each other in the remote Faroe Islands of the mid-19th century. In the end, any uneven qualities in Kaspar Kalle’s handsomely atmospheric sophomore feature dissipate in a melancholy poignancy reminiscent of “Brokeback Mountain” and “All of Us Strangers.”
In 1862, Baldur (Egor Venned) is a taciturn young man living with widowed mother Asla (Sofia Nolsoe). Going out one day to fish alone, he’s engulfed by mysterious clouds, then hears cries for help — though once he accidentally hits his head on a rock, it’s Baldur who’s rescued by Helge (Pilou Asbaek), a 40-ish sailor who’d become lost on an unfamiliar side of the island. They make it back to Asla’s cabin, where she’s charmed by their gregarious guest. Baldur is more circumspect, irked at having temporarily lost his boat in the mishap, and unsettled by Helge’s teasing manner, which could be interpreted as either adversarial or flirtatious. Nonetheless, the visitor fills his head with thoughts of adventure, and the many things Baldur has never seen — neither a tree or a mountain, for starters.
Later, their tentative friendship turns into something more passionate — to the dismay of eavesdropping Asla, who realizes she is not the party Helge’s charm was aimed at. When a whaling ship docks, both men are now ready to sign on as crew. But having already sacrificed a husband to the sea, Baldur’s mom balks at losing her only child as well. Maternal guilt works its magic, leaving Helge to sail off alone. Ill winds, however, force his return all too soon — as one of many corpses washed ashore from a shipwreck. Aggrieved, Baldur makes a blood wish that his lover “come back.”
At this point, things take a supernatural leap that has already been portended by various visions and nightmares. Is Helge some “force of evil,” as Asla suggests, even a vampire? When she grows alarmed enough to alert other villagers to her fears, the sailor’s dug-up corpse proves disconcertingly warm and undecayed, and a contagion of sorts begins spreading to others.
Ulrichs’ brief original tale reads more like a plot outline than fully-realized fiction, almost as if it were intended for oral recitation. The screenplay by Rasmus Birch and Kalle makes useful changes on that template, replacing crudely literal-minded aspects with more suggestive ones, paring dialogue to make room for effective visual storytelling. They get an excellent assist in that department from cinematographer Jacob Moller, who makes the most of poetically stark locations. That imagery is complemented by persuasive period design elements, and an original score by Hettarher that encompasses some wordless choral passages.
A successful model (and Faroes native) making his screen debut, Venned sports the kind of looks and physique that are almost too idealized for the setting. They further make him an odd partner for conspicuously older Asbaek, who’s in ingratiating form. But the newcomer holds his own acting-wise with his much more experienced costar. Nolsoe provides strong support. In her role as well as elsewhere, Kalle downplays the explicit homophobia that might have rendered this a more simplistic allegory, making Asla less a figure of interfering jealousy than a woman who simply doesn’t want to be abandoned yet again. Love finally triumphs in “No Rest for the Wicked,” a denouement that both is haunting, and requires a literal haunting to arrive.
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