Atanarjuat

It tells a legend from the two thousand years ago, about Atanarjuat, who incurs the jealous enmity of Oki when he marries Atuat… Oki kills Atanarjuat's brother, but Atanarjuat escapes in a stunning sequence, running naked across the ice floes, outstripping his pursuers until, his feet torn and bloody, he is taken in by a friendly sorcerer…

The motion picture concedes nothing in the way of authenticity, with sequences that show in realistic detail the training of sled-dogs, cutting up animal carcasses or making an igloo… But the convincing ethnographic elements only serve to intensify the compelling story and characters, which take on a truly epic dimension…

If the purpose of a national cinema is to represent the culture of the peoples it belongs to, then "Atanarjuat" achieves this victoriously, both the content of the film and the manner of its telling being wholly specific to Canada, yet in the process achieving a universal appeal

Set in an Inuit settlement deep in the Arctic Circle, this film is about one problem in particular: evil. This film examines its origins and consequences. It also makes a profound assertion: that the way to get rid of evil is not with more evil, but with forgiveness.

Since all the action takes place within the physical and cultural confines of a Stone Age culture, one might think that the drama lacks emotional depth, vigor, or subtlety. On the contrary, perhaps it's because the movie is bereft of theatrical embellishments and stratagems, the problem comes all the more clearly into focus. Despite the wide cultural divide between the Postmodern world of the twenty first century and the primitive world of our hunter-gatherer forebears, we easily identify with the main characters: their hopes, fears, and ambitions. For that reason alone, Atanarjuat is a remarkable movie.

With respect to the problem of evil, however, what I really love about the film is its emotional complexity, which one wouldn't expect from a three-hour epic revolving around the daily lives of a Stone Age culture. On one level, there is the Shaman and his curse. It's part of the package that comes with the religious beliefs of the people. If one believes in the ability of dead ancestors to come and render assistance to the living, it's also possible for spirits to bring calamity and misfortune to the same. In this film, beliefs that for me are about as tangible as a ghost in a fog come alive.

On another level, Atanarjuat, like Hamlet, delves deep into the origins of evil within the human heart. Good old family values such as love, affection, greed, lust, and murder, come clearly into focus. We're left with judgments about what is right and wrong – judgments that the clan reaches from within the internal logic of its own values – but also with understanding.

Have you ever seen a movie in which now and then you see a man urinating and it has no special function?

This film implies absolute purity. It is maximal naturalism in the middle of nowhere, at a place that seems do dream-like, so little real to most of us. As most stories set in very cold and barren regions, Atanarjuat has that touch of existentialism. And really, the story is quite simple, a classic family revenge plot like they are often peopled by Ancient Greek gods and goddesses.

In the beginning, you have no idea what it is all about and who is in which way related to whom – actually all the characters look the same in their thick clothes. But it doesn't really matter because you get enchanted by the beauty of the combination of light and snow, white and yellow, and maybe by the interesting sound of Inuktitut, the Canadian Inuit's language. Or by the sound of their boots as they press the snow again and again. Quite a lot to be impressed with.

Slowly – very slowly, the plot unfolds, the characters gain image, and you become completely absorbed into a mysterious and strange legend that happened long-long ago and aat a place very distant from us, both geographically and mentally.

Interesting enough that, after the end of the actual story, the filmmakers attached some `making-of' shots as they are quite commonly known from Jackie Chan movies. Suddenly, we see the people we just got to know wearing modern clothes and making jokes. And this seems weird to us. Before we leave the theatre, we are gently lead back to reality.

This is a fantastic film made by Inuit actors with a will. Unbelievable scenes with wonderful photography and chilling (no pun intended) moments. The tale may be a bit hard to get into as the entire perspective is given from the Inuit point of view from the get-go. Many Western audiences will just have to go along with a great leap of faith. There is much that serious film critics can frown at as many of the scenes are a bit jerky in transition but the heart of the story and they way it unfolds in Inuit fashion is there for all to see and partake in. I sat spellbound for the entirety of the film and wanted more at its ending. As an anthropologist, I certainly appreciated the faithfulness of the representation of Inuit culture in terms of the ethnographic works I've read and as a movie buff, I applaud a wonderful job of Inuit actors and film makers sharing their world with us.

Perhaps the word that best describes this film is 'remarkable'. It is remarkable that it was made at all, by an Inuit film company, remarkable that it was shot on location in the High Arctic in conditions of winter and summer, remarkable for its absolute authenticity, for its faithfulness both to its subject and to the Inuit culture, which transcends remarkable.

I have been to the High Artic more than once. I have sat in the great silence of the north on the late summer tundra when it turns purple and the winds begin to blow across the ground and make the cotton grass sing. I have heard the snow squeak at thirty-five below zero, as it did in this film; filming in such conditions must have been a nightmare. Metal does strange things at those temperatures; cameras freeze and film becomes brittle and breaks into pieces. Actors get cold and those just standing around get colder. There are no local power sources. And everything must be flown in by transport plane, including everything needed for the film crew to live and eat. There are no hotels and no restaurants, no pub of an evening and the daylight hours for filiming in February or March are very short. And in the summer, there are the flies.

The use of Inuktitut, which is still a living language, preserves that essential atmosphere of complete authenticity; the building of igloos, the darkness inside the communal dwelling with only seal oil lamps, the use of bone and driftwood and dried seaweed for tools and fuel are absolutely authentic. And yet not once did I have the impression of watching a documentary. These were real people, living real lives, using real tools, wearing real clothing, relying on the hunt, on luck and on each other for survival.

The story is set a thousand years ago. It is a legend, but one easily sees that it was a real story, passed down through time in the oral tradition. As it plays itself out - in the slow pace of Inuit time, not the frantic, high-pressure pace of our everyday existence - the rules of survival become clear, family alliances, taboos, social practices. Where survival in a lethal environment is moment to moment, social rules broken have immediate consequences not only for individuals but for the whole community, which usually consisted of no more than a dozen or so related individuals. Jealousy, murder, theft could not be tolerated. The story must not, therefore, be judged by our standards. The only way to see this film is with complete openness; not only must you let the characters tell you the events of their drama, you must let them show you why those events were so destructive and why their way of dealing with it was right for them.

This is about survival in a way that someone living in a city with a supermarket down the street, medical care and central heating can probably never fully grasp. It is not for the small-minded, not for anyone who cannot see past his own prejudices or narrow moral concepts and it is not for the squeamish. Survival is messy; it involves animal guts and blood and pain, it involves you in your own continued existence in a way that we can no longer experience in all our plenty and our ease. This film is also about fierce love, blinding jealousy, hatred, courage and abiding patience - all things we share in our common humanity. But the filmmakers did not present the characters as 'noble savages'. Life was about food, about having it or not having it, about hunting it, gathering it, bringing it home, preparing it, preserving it, eating it and then doing it all over again. All the time. The Inuit are in no way 'primitive' people, whatever that truly means; this is how they survived. We couldn't do it - and perhaps that makes us the primitives.

I was fascinated. It takes a short while to become used to the unfamiliar, the setting, the names, the culture shock. After that, it is compelling, and very, very real. The events unfold tragically and inevitably in a distressingly familiar, a frighteningly human way. And you care deeply about the characters, about what happens to them, about whether they win out - because it is made very clear that they have every chance of not surviving for any number of reasons.

And it is gorgeous. The Artic is immensely photogenic but the cinematography was up to the challenge. The sounds are a whole new experience for those who have never been there - the wind, the squeak and crunch of the snow, the dogs, the singing, the drumming, the rattling of bones, the sounds of the ice.

This film is an experience; if the Arctic has ever intrigued you, this must not be missed.