His surname reflective of greatness, Sakaris Stórá (1986) is a filmmaker who makes a difference. Having carved a space for himself with a poetic niche cinema where low-key performances may not be so low-key after all and the silences between the words speak volumes, the external soundtrack or non-diegetic sound and the imposing Faroese landscape likewise become important parts of the storytelling.
Stórá leads the way at a time of external hype and political restlessness when, more than ever, it feels we are in dire need of a home to come home to, and it may be hard to define what home is and means – to all of us. During precarious societal conditions we may be forgiven for looking elsewhere for momentary – and monetary – satisfaction and survival. Yet the departure point could ultimately be a place to return to.
Stórá’s cinema offers a pause from external hype and frenzy and, rather than buying into Zygmunt Bauman’s notion of a ‘postmodern nomad’ or ‘hunter’, who is doggedly looking to an uncertain future while lingering not in the past nor in the present[1], the reflective Faroese filmmaker is acutely aware of what really matters. At a time when escapism becomes a safe harbour in the midst of a global tidal wave, Stórá, in The Last Paradise on Earth, presents us with a story where the male protagonist stays put – against all odds.
With that, Stórá slows the pace, focuses on the individual, and honours place and the ability we should all be able to tap into, to stop the frenzy, say no to external temptations, and, rather, be grateful to the place that offers the home we might have been looking for all along.
What follows is my 22 July Melbourne Zoom interview with Stórá, who joined me all the way from the Faroe Islands. The conversation focusses on The Last Paradise on Earth, shot in the village of Hvalba on the island of Suðuroy.[2] The critically acclaimed film had its world premiere at the Gothenburg Film Festival[3], with the filmmaker and likewise screenwriter in attendance for Q&A sessions in conjunction with several of the screenings.[4]
Winner of the VFF Talent Highlight Award at the Berlinale Talents Market in 2020, the film was produced “with a strong focus on sustainable production in collaboration with Denmark’s BFTP. The project was part of the New Nordic Narratives Sustainable Film Lab at Haugesund Film Festival in 2022.”[5]
Our interview took place midway through the Hurtigruten 2025 Scandinavian Film Festival in Melbourne and moves organically between themes and topics, exploring the idea of ‘home’, the larger significance of landscape, and emotional proximity between people whose sparse language and minimal dialogues convey deeper emotions. Music adds an important dimension to a film focused in equal degrees on form and content, where the soundtrack by Hettarher becomes a poetic reflection on a physically absent yet spiritually present mother.
Finally, the obstacles faced by the Faroese fishing industry are discussed in view of a small but largely self-governing nation that belongs to the Kingdom of Denmark and which, as such, can be said to be operating in the margins – yet Stora’s personal storytelling at a time of a gradual distancing from grand narratives centralises the margins and shines a light on a lifestyle where nature and stillness gains prominence and are essential elements that we might all be yearning for.
The current Scandinavian Film Festival, organised annually, reflects an interest in Scandinavia on the part of Australian audiences nationwide. What would you say is the ongoing fascination with Scandinavian cinema among Scandinavians themselves?
I’ve thought a bit about that. I think it’s got to do with the emotional proximity between people and that is something that fascinates me.
The Last Paradise on Earth features some very low-key performances and the landscape gains protagonistic status in some ways (and we may begin to wonder who is actually observing whom). It becomes an important backdrop to the whole action of a drama that is more internal than anything.
Yes, that was a big part of the whole journey; to use very few words and have the characters communicate mostly in a way that hopefully transcends language barriers and touches people across the world.
Absolutely. And with this kind of slow and natural filmmaking you are paving the way for a new kind of cinema, which is almost Antonionesque in pace. To the extent that audiences today who are used to fast-moving films, must make an effort to just slow down. The Last Paradise on Earth is quite realistic as well because we feel drawn into this landscape due to the narrative slowness.
Yes, and I knew that if I wanted to make this story, I had to be very honest, in a way. And, also, be honest to the characters. It had to be in a sort of a slow tempo to be able to emotionally understand the characters. But there was always this balance that we had to keep. I didn’t want it to be too slow. But I wanted it to have a pace that reflected the character’s life, and the life in the environment he lives in.
And the rhythm of the landscape affects the characters internally, as well. So, they are almost symbiotically part of the external landscape.
Exactly. And we had very strict rules when we shot the film. Nature plays a big part but the whole film was shot on location; everything was shot in this small town. And we had a rule that we were only allowed to show the nature that you would see in that particular place. To be honest to that as well. I think why it lives so well in the film is because it was there.
So, there are no sweeping panoramas of nature that do not belong in the actual narrative?
There are some night shots that are a part of the sequence that is a bit dreamy.
The soundtrack is also very important. The film evocatively opens to Torshavnar Kamarkór’s beautiful and suggestive choir song “Aldan” (“Byrjan”)[6]. Please comment on that as well, as it is important to the narrative.
Thanks for that. Well, the composers did the recording with this choir. And I wanted to create a contrast, because I think it’s a very nice contrast between the factory workers and this choir music. And it sets some kind of tone, as well, for the rest of the film.
The film feels like a poetic documentary – as defined by Bill Nichols, who lists 6 main types of documentary filmmaking. In your case, the music weaves its own poetry and becomes a reflection that highlights the introspective journey of main character Kári (Sámal H. Hansen). And the music almost stops the pace even more, because it’s so slow and evocative.
Yes, we worked a lot with the music throughout the film, both the composed score and the rest of the music. And this is absolutely something that lives in an environmental way. So, when you’re there yourself, you feel a sense of music, even if you don’t hear it.
The breathtaking Faroese landscape inspires a poetic sense of belonging. Are you coming home to some serenity when you’re there?
“I try very much to show this environment as I felt it when I was in it myself. I was born and raised here and have lived in my hometown (Skopun) for most of my life. I used to work on a factory like the main character, for 3 years, instead of going to college. So definitely, yes.” And he adds: “By working in one of the smallest countries – and in one of the smallest languages in the world, casting is not easy.”
I can imagine. Would you call it an autobiographical movie in that respect?
No, it’s not autobiographical because the story isn’t based on my life, but it’s a very personal film as a lot of the things and emotions in the film are things I’ve seen and maybe felt as well.
It’s also interesting with the alternatively diegetic and non-diegetic sound – the diegetic including, e.g., the party the sister goes to, the rhythmic and grinding machinery at the fishery, etc. Would you say that this adds an almost hyper-realist touch to the film?
Yes, definitely. And I also wanted to have this contrast because the music that you hear in the film is very close to what I listen to.
The music changes in tandem with the shifting scenery. Does the score reflect the characters’ emotions and affect our emotions?
Absolutely. And we worked on a lot of concepts with the whole music creation. One big part of the story is the mother who is only present through her absence. But I think the longing for the mother exists in the soundtrack.
There is also a strong sense of female community in the scene with women bathing (as if taken straight from a Zorn painting). Women who in rugged conditions find joy by wading into the cold ocean in a very Scandinavian way – and feel a sense of affinity with it.
The film also has this stern masculinity in some of the characters. The male characters don’t talk about emotions. That creates a contrast in not only the storytelling, but also these visual elements. And the scene with the swimmers is very much like that; a contrast to this very stern new world.
What are some key scenes in terms of the message you want to convey to the audience?
It is a bit of a spoiler, but I think the most beautiful line in the film is towards the end where his sister Silja (Bjørg B. Egholm) just says, “Thank you.” That line sums up their journey because it’s so much about him [Kári] not acknowledging her. And in the end, she gets his validation in a way. Because now he sees her. I think that’s one very touching part.
And, of course, the scene with the swimmers as well as it breaks a bit away from the realism of the film. Which is nice, but at the same time it was a scene that just happened and is almost [poetically] profound. While we shot it, the sister is so touching in a way. So that’s one of my favourite scenes.
And she also speaks very much through her eyes. She rages against the machine, yet she can’t do anything about the situation. And she loves him; you can tell, as well. The film is ripe in emotions yet the main message that speaks louder than words is along the lines of “Sorry, I forgot we don’t talk about things in this house”. That really summarizes everything.
It’s quite interesting. I like that scene as well. Because that’s the only scene with the three of them [Kári, his sister, and their father soon taking to the seas] together. And they’re not looking at each other.
Good point. And can you please comment on the following: that the external situation might change and be in flux, but the place remains the same. So, a sense of home coming. What does home mean to you? Is home where the heart is? And can you live with a divided heart if you don’t feel at home in just one place? In The Last Paradise on Earth, even if the characters – whose concerns are reflective of larger issues in society – are conflicted and their job comes to an end, Kári (who is, simultaneously, an observer, a protagonist, and a witness) stays put.
Yes, and it’s a bit like the title of the film. Because it’s so much up to each and everyone of us. The Last Paradise on Earth probably reflects Kári’s feelings for this place. But his paradise isn’t the same as somebody else’s paradise. And I think it’s the same thing with home. Because I think every home is sort of like a universe on its own, if that makes sense.
That’s beautiful, yes absolutely.
And, also, one of the interesting things about making this film, is that we shot on real locations, so we tried to make them feel as real as possible on set as well. So, it felt very much like we were entering someone’s home and kind of portraying their life. And discovering their way of having a home.
So, is home on screen a utopia or a dystopia?
It depends very much on who sees it and at what point in life. Home is probably hell for the sister [7] but in the end, they manage because they do it together and they see each other. It’s interesting; the story focuses on the process of creating the bond between the characters, and that process felt like home.
Thanks for that yes, I see what you mean.
And I’m so impressed by, especially, the two lead actors because we don’t have a real tradition for filmmaking and we are so few people that [again] it’s really hard to cast for a film. And to build that bond between them that carries the film was a very rewarding experience for all of us.
That is an important point. There are commonalities between The Last Paradise on Earth and Winter Morning (Vetrarmorgun 2013) [8] which are driven by similar queries. In The Last Paradise on Earth, “[y]ou need to get a life, Kári”, and “Go and slice some fish, Kári, and get a life” – and in Winter Morning, “Do you think we’ll ever leave this place?”, reflect existential conundrums. It is also quite heartbreaking, to know that you belong somewhere but cannot stay. It produces a sense of nostalgia and melancholia in viewer and character alike. What does it really mean to ‘get a life’?
I think there are two parts to that, because everything I’ve done previously has been very much about this longing to get away. Or the longing for a bigger world. But with this film I wanted to make a story that is about the opposite of that.
And what made you change direction in that respect?
I think it’s important to tell those stories, as well, about the people who decide to stay and those who somehow manage to see the beauty and the things they have around them. Kári is one of those people who goes against this social pressure of always becoming something and being something and making something. He just wants to be. And I think that’s important to show on film.
It’s indeed a very hectic world out there and that’s the whole thing about it as well. There’s also a reflection on Cosmos through the focus on a telescope in one of the scenes (similar concerns were raised in The Mountain (Fjallið, Ásthildur Kjartansdóttir, 2025) which is also about space and the bigger universe).
The film has some kind of extra dimension, I think. It’s mostly something that just happened throughout the process, but it’s also kind of inspired by Kieślowski. He has this kind of out-of-this-world look next to what’s happening in the film, and Lucas Moodysson as well.
That’s a great legacy that you leave behind with this film. Is this the beginning of a new type of filmmaking for you?
I’m not sure. It’s just a natural evolve, I think. But this was very much like going by intuition. Fighting for a very small story while creating something bigger in a way. I’m really blown away by the reception – it has got some great reviews. I’m very thankful for that.
Well, I think we all need to be very thankful to you for contributing in such a different way to the hype out there. It’s a very bold move.
My final question concerns the Faroese fishing industry. The recent documentary Ocean – with David Attenborough (2025) talks about the excavation of the ocean floor. Likewise in your film, “[t]here’s nothing to catch out there”, “The sea is more dead than alive” “Everything is disappearing, Kári”, and “[w]e’re not making ends meet anymore – the factory is closing.” “Time is over for the small factories.” There is an acute sense of existential bleakness and darkness pressing in from all sides. Is it that urgent in the Faroe Islands?
The story with the birds is very much true but it’s fluctuating and changing all the time. I don’t think it’s urgent but it’s present and it’s real.
Therein lies the timeliness of Stórá; a filmmaker who contributes to the art of cultural storytelling on a very real level and who tackles national concerns that reflect international issues.
The Last Paradise on Earth screens as part of the 2025 Hurtigruten Scandinavian Film Festival – which continues at Palace Cinemas across Australia. For more information, including venues and program schedule, visit: www.scandinavianfilmfestival.com for details.
In Conversation with Sakaris Stórá – director of The Last Paradise on Earth
Words: Dr Jytte Holmqvist
Images: Sakaris Stora (supplied) | The Last Paradise on Earth (film still) |
Footnotes:
[1] ”We are all hunters now, or told to be hunters and compelled to act like hunters, on the penalty of eviction from hunting – if not of relegation to the ranks of the game. No wonder then that looking around we see mostly other lonely hunters like us, or hunters hunting in packs which we also occasionally try to do. What we do and see is called ‘individualization’.”www.respekt.cz
[2] See: www.screendaily.com
[4] program.goteborgfilmfestival.se
[7] At one point in the film, she “…can’t cope anymore. Couldn’t I just fall asleep… And dream myself away.”
[8] See: www.berlinale-talents.de and www.berlinale-talents.de