Far North

Roughly eighty minutes of gorgeous, mute tundra and dogs followed by ten minutes of cutting off a woman's face and hair, wearing them, and deceiving the dead woman's lover into committing the ultimate coital faux pas? I did not see that coming.

Felt like a play to me. A tense, tight, controlled, fuck-you-in-the-head-forever kind of play. Like Pinter!

Also, three actors felt like just enough; eight was too many. I mean, hey, let's not go nuts.