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Feminist university professor Gedda (Johanna ter Steege) firmly believes that a man can only flourish if their wife takes care of everything in life. So that's what she does for main character and middle-aged veterinary surgeon Jan (Herman Finkers). When Gedda's father Oarend (Jan Roerink) passes away and is buried - despite his explicit wish to be cremated - Jan sees his own life reflected in his father-in-law's, and snaps. He decides to feign the onset of Alzheimer's disease to get away from Johanna, and to fulfil Oarend's last wish: that his ashes be scattered at the Loreley in Germany, a popular pilgrims' destination.

Finkers, a well-known comedian from the Dutch region of Twente, has adapted Radek Bajgar's originally Czech filmscript for Teorie tygra in Finkersian style. Whereas his comedy shows are extremely witty and full of wordplay, calling this film a 'comedy' in the true sense would be a misnomer. Yes, there are some minor smile and chuckle moments, but don't expect to double over from laughter. Some scenes border on the absurd or dark, others are more subtle.

The Marriage Escape is the first feature-length comedic drama fully spoken in Twents, a regional variety of Low Saxon. This heavily minoritised language of the Netherlands and Germany is spoken by some 5 to 6 million people today. It's rather difficult to keep a neutral outlook (and by the way, should we?) when you're from this region yourself and speak the language in which this whole film is shot, because it has never been done so well before. To anyone from Twente or neighbouring regions, The Marriage Escape is full of linguistic nostalgia. Its significance within the broader range of language preservation efforts is undisputed. This alone makes it worth ten stars. But that should not eclipse everything else about the film. That's why it needs a fairer, more thorough look.

Born in Twente himself, veteran film director Johan Nijenhuis knows his region well, and has enough experience to lend his shots a lush, dreamy, spring-like appearance. The scenes with the rolling, misty hills of north-eastern Twente and the adjacent German region of Bentheim lend it a unique softness that would befit any promotional video for a local board of tourism. It could even be considered a bit utopian.

One thing well-written is Gedda's absolute nightmarish doting on Jan. The unrelenting, near-dictatorial hijacking of Jan's decision-making faculties is enough to make any male viewer cringe, and it will undoubtedly have led to some marital quarrels off-screen. It is a recurring theme among all couples in the film, who continuously struggle with their interpersonal power relations. From Gedda's old mother Sinie (Annie Beumers) who continues to decide everything for Oarend even after his death, to Gedda and Jan, and daughter Liesbeth (Leonie ter Braak) who is dating a neurotic control freak Erik (Ferdi Stofmeel).

All the main characters go through some major developments. Gedda has her beliefs firmly shaken by Jan's actions, while Jan highly enjoys his newly acquired freedom. Erik slowly reveals his true nature to daughter Liesbeth who starts to question her own decisions, while son Peter (Stef Assen) and his girlfriend Ilse (Aniek Stokkers) choose a convenient lie over the hard truth. Well, I say 'hard'...

The heavy focus on the language aspect has significantly reduced the pool of possible actors. It is clear that not every actor is comfortable speaking it, while some speakers aren't comfortable actors. Finkers himself, for instance, is in the last category. Especially because of his national fame as a comedian, it is difficult to separate the tragicomic character of Jan from Finkers himself. Johanna ter Steege is the only main actor who grew up speaking the language at a native level. This gives her all the freedom to focus on her acting instead, which she has been doing professionally for decades. She showcases her talent in a stellar performance. Another surprisingly natural speaker is Daphne Bunskoek, although her role as candid photographer Julia seems somewhat superfluous and not very essential to the story, if only to convince Jan that there are women who aren't as possessive as his own wife.

Despite all this, The Marriage Escape is a monumental film within the broader strive for more recognition for Low Saxon. It is also a mirror to many couples who having been living together for years. It is well-shot, and it was chosen as the 2020 Dutch Film of the Year (although it isn't Dutch), attracting millions of viewers and high praise since its release.

Highly enjoyable for an evening of light entertainment, but no ground-breaking stuff, apart from the language aspect.

Brot (The Valhalla Murders) is advertised as being about Icelandic policeman Arnar (Björn Thors) being brought back from Norway to assist in the hunt for what appears to be a serial killer. This is only partly true. I felt the series was more about Kata (Nína Dögg Filippusdóttir), a senior policewoman leading the investigation, and who gets side-lined for promotion while her teenage son appears to lose some of his game nerd innocence.

Let's get the little points of critique out of the way first. The series does have a considerable amount of scenes where coppers steal around in dimly lit warehouses and harbours, brandishing nothing but a pocket torch in defence against a potentially mentally disturbed killer. What was that? A suspicious noise from behind that strip door? let's barge right in unarmed, and check it out! The occasional cheap 'zing' sound effect when a sinister silhouette darts across the room in front of the camera gave me Eighties flashbacks.

All that time of creeping through abandoned places and running after suspects could have been used to zoom in on the soured relationship between Kata and Helga (Tinna Hrafnsdóttir), that thing with Kári (her son), or the as of yet unresolved consequences of Arnars sudden violence.

The screenplay is straightforward. No distracting time jumps, just several main characters with a human flaw going through a personal struggle, trying to solve the biggest murder case in Icelandic history. Combine that with solid acting and you have a golden show (though it's mostly in blue and grey hues). Thors' Arnar has his own demons, and you can nearly sense them roiling and toiling under the surface of his tight-clenched, almost morose composure. Scandinavians are renowned for their undercooled emotions, which make it all the more powerful when those feelings finally do come out raw and untethered. But I guess that's a European's perspective.

The camera work is well done, and really serves its purpose: keeping you on edge from the start. Combine that with shots of the impressive Icelandic landscape, and you'd even consider visiting the place, were it not for the highly disturbed killers, ever-present ice and snow, and severely understaffed police force out there.

We've seen our fair share of mainland ScandiNoir. Together with Ofærð and Fortitude, the Icelanders show they have a few tricks up their sleeve.

Crime reporter Dicte (Iben Hjejle) stays ahead of criminal investigators John Wagner (Lars Brygmann) and his snarky aide Linda Bendtsen (Ditte Ylva Olsen) in solving cases, and sometimes can't help getting involved as well.

Dicte is a light-hearted show about the continous dance between news reporters' drive to inform the public and police attempts to keep a lid on. In this show, solving a case usually takes two episodes. Meanwhile, Dicte and the rest of the characters have their own stuff to figure out. That usually involves a bit of banter, casual sex, but also more serious issues, such as searching for her son whom she had to give up for adoption when she was a teenager.

Dicte is an entertaining show, but don't expect extensive plot twists or a ground-breaking cinematic experience.