Hellen I like the storyline of this show,it attract me so much

Kidskycom It's funny watching the elements come together in this complicated scam. On one hand, the set-up isn't quite as complex as it seems, but there's an easy sense of fun in every exchange.

Maidexpl Entertaining from beginning to end, it maintains the spirit of the franchise while establishing it's own seal with a fun cast

Yazmin Close shines in drama with strong language, adult themes.

pyrocitor Presently, Iceland is not a major player in the international film circuit - the Icelandic Film Centre website proudly (/adorably) proclaims that they now have "over one hundred!" feature films released. However, if 101 Reykjavík (so named, we can only assume, for being the country's first post-centennial film) is any indication, it's quite worth tracking down those other 100 as well. For a film that casually positions itself as encapsulating the spirit of its nation, 101 Reykjavík is, in many ways exactly the remediation of stereotypes you'd expect from an Icelandic film: it's thoroughly odd, bleak, and full of isolating grandeur. And yet, debut director Baltasar Kormákur navigates expectations with a cheeky confidence and sharp, quirky sense of self-effacing humour that you can't help but love it so, even amidst the inevitable double-takes at the bizarro twists and turns it throws your way with cheerful nonchalance. Here's a prime example of how genre can be deceptive: the film is a romantic comedy revolving around an immature man-child afraid of commitment. If that sentence alone is enough to make you retch and run the other way, you're not alone. However, somehow, tossing these tropes into the icy winds of Reykjavík is enough to strip and scatter every whiff of cliché like so much powder snow. There's something utterly disarming about Kormákur's cheerily matter-of-fact approach to circumstances and character beats that would be abhorrent to traditional Hollywood audiences that somehow takes the sting out and makes them irreverent and silly instead of the stuff of major studio nightmares. What sort of 'circumstances' are we talking about here? Well, you'd be remiss to expect a traditional, straightforward Hollywood 'rom-com' from the country that created an ancestry smartphone app to avoid incest in bar hookups* (and you can only imagine the field day Kormákur would have with that). As such, our belligerent man-child's misadventures fumble past pregnancy, speed dating calibre hookup swapping, the experience of coming out in a claustrophobic community (as one character eagerly exclaims, "A REAL LIFE lesbian? What's it like??"), and, yes, incest. Kind of. And yet, they all weave unobtrusively into the grain of the film with such wide-eyed indifference, it's almost a heartier laugh than the film's snappier punchlines, of which there are many. Just check out Kormákur's depiction of the excruciating, claustrophobic dullness of an extended family dinner - we laugh because it saves us from shuddering in painful solidarity. Naturally, Kormákur's skews firmly for satire rather than neorealism here (thank goodness), but this is not to say his film is merely silly and superfluous. Here and there, amidst the goofiness, the film surges with genuine passion - pride for its beautiful, barren landscapes, captured in gorgeous panoramic crane and aerial shots here, and frustration for the boredom and aimlessness which consumes all too many of its inhabitants. It's for this reason, protagonist Hlynur (perfectly charming Hilmir Snær Guðnason, who skulks around like a wry, hipster Crispin Glover) isn't that easy to write off, in spite of his infuriating belligerence in the face of employment, romantic partnership, responsibility… hell, adulthood as a whole. We know he's still suffering the aftershocks of an ambiguously tragic childhood, but his perennial smug selfishness burns through any accrued sympathy. And yet, in his poetically grim voice-over interludes, Hlynur seems to diagnose himself as a product of the deep stagnation and hopelessness of his environment. He's not as badly off as many of the substance-abusive or infected sex-maniacs who whirl around him, but, in his own words, he's so pleasantly, functionally depressed he considers life only a fleeting break from death. Eat your heart out, Ingmar Bergman. There are bright spots, assuredly - the wildly effervescent Victoria Abril's visiting Flamenco teacher, Lola, for example, who lights up the film every time she flits through it. However, time shows that even they are usually as amorally tainted as the rest of the snowy wasteland surrounding them. Not "bad", though, as Hlynur's sole moment of introspection crucially expresses - every person, scenario, and facet of life is both good and bad, and must be accepted as is.It's a resonant moral in a film full of little, universal truths, all wrapped up in a deceptively mesmerizing, surprisingly catchy soundtrack of Icelandic electro, mostly remixes of the classic The Kinks tune "Lola". 101 Reykjavík is thoroughly fresh, sharp, hugely funny, and soulfully mournful, yet bundled together with such quirky charm you would pinch the film's cheeks if the film had cheeks to pinch. It may not be the most obvious pick for Friday night viewing for non-Icelandic viewers. But it could just scratch all of those originality itches you didn't even know you had. -8/10 *Yes, really. It's called Íslendingabók (translated as "The Book of Icelanders"). Its tagline is "Bump in the app before you bump in bed". If you find this as hilarious and awesome as you should, you will thoroughly enjoy this film.

NordicFilm In the pop song "Lola", the band The Kinks sing about a romantic encounter between a young man and a possible transvestite. The innocent enough sounding song, but is in many ways the perfect theme song for 101 Reykavik by Baltasar Kormakur. This movie follows Hlynur, a 29- year-old man who still lives with his mom whose days blend by in a succession of drug filled weekends and days spent at the computer, but are quickly turned upside down with the arrival of his mom's new girlfriend--Lola. Once the love triangle develops between Lola, his mom, and Hylnur, the boy-man finds his life changing drastically. Reykavik, both the title of the movie, the setting for the story, and the hometown for the director, is a small Icelandic town under the oppression of winter. Hylnur, played by Hilmir Snær Guðnason, though on the edge of turning 30 is perpetually living as if he was 17, and feels as if he is oppressed as much by the town as his own lack of ambition. His mother's house, a small cupboard of an apartment where a bath doubles as a couch, is the entirety of his world. His universe only expands to the local pub during the weekends, where he drinks with the same group of people. There is no better description of his character then to say he is sleeping through his life.The movie is almost repetitious to a fault, but perhaps that is the point; by midway through the movie, the viewer feels like they themselves are bored to tears by the cyclical nature of the scenes. Hylnur spends his days at the house and pub; desperate women search for love only to be insulted by Hylnur and his friends, and Reykavik remains buried in the snow and dark. However, the movie is very self-aware of this: best categorized in the scene where at a holiday dinner, where the family actually sits and watches a video of the previous year's dinner party with the same people parroting identical phrases. While low budget, Guðnason makes excellent use of lighting and setting to reflect and parallel the story and tone of the movie. At the start, Reykavik is cold, dark, and snowy; the weather reflects the mood and feelings of the characters. As the movie moves along, the snow melts, the days grow longer, there is more lighting in the shots, new life is breathed into the characters. Mirroring the thaw of routine, and the creation of new life as prominent characters become pregnant. Upon viewing of this movie, it can become easy to be disgusted and distracted by the gratuitous scenes of sex and drugs--often included for comedic value-- and miss the central points the film tries to convey. While these scenes do detract from the overall message, 101 Reykavik hits uncomfortable nerves. Can a person have a second rebirth? While no one who watches this film could ever possess the lack of ambition of Hylnur, there is a common feeling that one falls into ruts that cannot be broken. We feel like we are just passive recipients of life, just participants in events beyond our control. In this sense the movie is redeeming--much like Hylnur experiences--what takes us out of ruts and makes us feel like we are once again "living life' is what pushes us out of our comfort zone and into uncharted territory. In many ways, the fundamental judges of a movie such as 101 Reykavik is whether or not the viewer enjoys viewing it or it stimulates thought. On these grounds, the movie succeeds with flying colors. The comedic aspects most often do fall short, but the movie stands on other grounds. It makes one examine their own life, whether or not they themselves are sleeping through life, or an active participant; do they truly know what they want out of life or is it simply a less extreme version of Hylnur's life plans to perpetually live off welfare?

Payne McMillan "Eskimo Brother" is a colloquialism that I hear thrown around, which describes a bond between two people via having slept with the same partner. Hallgrímur Helgason's film 101 Reykjavik (2000) brings a new dynamic tension to this term. The movie's protagonist, Hlynur (Hilmir Snær Guðnason), after sleeping with Lola (Victoria Abril), a flamenco instructor from Spain who has been lodging with his mom (Hanna María Karlsdóttir) and him, finds out that this attractive dancer is his mother's lover. This information is difficult for Hlynur to pallet, and he becomes emotionally distraught because of his new step-mother's infidelity which results in him becoming the illegitimate father of his baby brother. 101 Reykjavik is an intriguing watch. It's a bold film, pertinent to Iceland where there is a strong sense of kinship identity in the tightknit country. With a national population of 280,000, an outsider could easily be mistaken that everyone knows everyone, and this film plays into that idea that your family business is theirs. Considering the new Íslendingabók database which is a project that aims to trace and record the genealogy of everyone in Iceland back to the settlement, it is a fascinating time to watch this movie that plays so heavily on complicated and taboo relationships. In a country where patronymic and matronymic surnames are used instead of unified family names (in Iceland, rather than Payne McMillan, I would be Payne Martinson—that is, son of Martin), 101 Reykjavik shows that humans are a less linear product of upbringing than an amalgamation of sources and experiences. In a sense, Helgason's film is about keeping up with the times. Released ten years before Icelandic Parliament adopted a gender neutral definition of marriage, we see Hlynur off put and perplexed by Lola's sexual identity that does not fit into his narrow scope of the homosexual/heterosexual dichotomy. 101 Reykjavik is a millennial coming of age story. Hlynur, who is unwilling to make radical changes to his lifestyle in the face of his new family structure. When his mother announces that she is going to raise Lola's baby with her, it does not occur to him that he should move out and start a life of his own, but instead must adapt to these abnormalities within the existing family structure. This film might drive some viewers crazy just by the nature of Hlynur who lacks any semblance of direction in life. He starts out living with his mother, surviving on welfare checks; unmotivated to go out and find a job, Hlynur spends most of his daylight hours surfing the internet and masturbating, and then going out at night to binge drink and party. His assumption though that there is nothing wrong with this sloth lifestyle but then condemns his mother and Lola who seize upon opportunities to expand their horizons make Hlynur an extended metaphor for those who usher in change when it benefits them but scoff it when poses personal obstacles. The film does take a judgmental tone toward people who are indignant to change because it is uncomfortable for them, however it does not advocate outright for modernity. Hlynur's obsession with internet pornography, for example shadow his relationships in the real world. And Hlynur all but ruins the magic of Christmas when, in order to save time cleaning up needles, he purchases a hideous aluminum colored tinsel tree that rotates while proclaiming, "Merry Christmas." At other times though, Helgason blends themes of globalization with the Icelandic landscape in an enjoyable and accepting way. Notably, the musical score throughout has a very futuristic sound, like robots or synthesizers, but the melodies sound folksy. Also, Lola who is the greatest outsider of anyone in the film—Hlynur even says that people don't come to Iceland; they are only born their—is fascinating and welcomed by almost everyone she meets, including Hófí, another woman who is romantically invested in Hlynur.The heavy mismatching and confusion of identities illustrates the cultural paradigm of old versus new that is prevalent in Icelandic cinema. For those American viewers that don't particularly care to read, they are in luck because much of the film is spoken in English, because that is the language the Spanish character and Icelandic people are able to speak in common. The fact that neither are able to communicate in the language most comfortable to them parallels nicely the uneasiness of these characters that are experimenting and developing while faced with serious emotional complication. I recommend this film because of its humorous confrontation of issues regarding identity and ability to defy new obstacles. Even though it deals with heavy issues such as addiction and adultery, it has a heartwarming ending. It's a great film for people that are anxious about the challenges that accompany increasing development and globalization.

Guy Plot: A 30 year old slacker is forced to grow up when he falls in love with his mother's lesbian lover.This is a film that could only be made in Iceland - thank God. Yet another coming of age story that at the most abstract level hits fairly predictable beats, culminating in an unsurprising conclusion. Expect the usual misdirected anger of the young, dumb and living with mum types. But if you can get past the silly scenes where the protagonist dreams of slaughtering his dull relatives at a family celebration then you'll discover the meat of the film. Simply put, Iceland is weird. The whole thing becomes an enjoyable tour through the oddness of Icelandic society and social norms, made all the more powerful for how the weird co-exists with the normal. Genuine surprises, the novelty of Icelandic life and a sort of anthropological curiosity draw the viewer in and keep you gripped. Especially notable was the bath than turns into a couch-bed! It also helps that the drama in the latter half has a genuinely interesting question - did the protagonist accidentally father the child his mother's lesbian lover is having during his romp with her? The drama is well-grounded and there is an honesty to the portrayal of the characters that grounds and accentuates the film. No classic, but worth a watch.Worth one viewing.