大象传媒

So how does a small island in the Atlantic Ocean with a population of just 300,000 souls manage to sustain such an eclectic and vibrant musical culture? That's the question posed, if not satisfactorily answered, by writer/director Ari Alexander's bizarrely titled Screaming Masterpiece. A celebratory mixture of interviews with Icelandic musicians, extensive footage of their live performances, and sweeping aerial shots of the country's majestic, snow-covered landscapes, it's an overly cluttered affair that lacks a critical perspective.

Various explanations are proffered in the film for the current wave of musical creativity in Iceland: the lack of alternative sources of entertainment on long winter nights, a cultural detachment from both America and Europe, and an indigenous storytelling tradition stretching back to the Vikings in the form of poems and folk tales. Hopping between artists and venues - one enterprising musician Mugison rehearses in an remote church - Screaming Masterpiece does a reasonable job of conveying the diversity of talents, who are mainly based in the capital Reykjavik. Alongside such internationally acclaimed figures as Bj枚rk, there's the self-explanatory Organ Quartet, the hip-hop and punk fusion of Quarashi, teenage rockers Nilfisk, and electronic experimentalists M煤m.

"OBVIOUS PRIDE"

Unlikely collaborations are de rigueur: thus the nation's head druid teams up with a full choir and chanteuse Steind贸r Andersen joins the acclaimed band Sigur Ros for a concert rendition of an ancient verse. Given the obvious pride in Icelandic culture and language displayed by these performers, it's revealing that so many should choose to sing in English, a paradox which Alexander could fruitfully have explored.

In Icelandic with English subtitles.