The ptarmigan hunt four old friends have planned for a winter weekend in the wilds of eastern Iceland goes south when the weather turns on them and they turn on each other.
Three of the four—actor Daníel, attorney Gunnlaugur, and Helena, an engineer for a tech startup—would have no business traipsing around in the snow under any circumstances if it weren’t for the fourth, Ármann, a travel guide with a checkered past as a drug user–turned-dealer whose underworld connections in Denmark might well have killed him if Helena hadn’t ridden to the rescue. Once an unexpected snowstorm sends them searching desperately for a hut they can shelter in, it’s gradually revealed that the others all have secrets of their own. Daníel can’t stop lying about the fact that his career in London has never taken off. Helena’s still mourning Víkingur, the ex who died under suspicious circumstances five years ago. And Gunnlaugur is an alcoholic rapist whose two years on the wagon come to an end inside the hut, where the refuge they’ve sought swiftly turns nightmarish with the discovery of an armed stranger inside. No matter what they do, the man won’t move, won’t talk, and won’t put down his gun even when the group falls asleep. Soft-pedaling the supernatural trappings of The Girl Who Died (2021), Jónasson presents the weekend getaway as an excruciatingly slow-motion avalanche in which it’s obvious from the beginning, as Helene says, that “something’s got to die before we finish this trip”; the only questions are who, how many, under what circumstances, and at whose hands.
A shivery delight. It’s nice that the Icelandic Tourist Board hasn’t paid Jónasson to quit publishing.