the beauty of mediocrity - 2026/02/05
After a stressful day of work, I was invited by a friend to go see Hlynur Palmason's 2025 drama/comedy Astin Sem Eftir Er (Icelandic for The Love That Remains) at the IFC. I knew absolutely nothing about the movie going into it, and to be honest, I'm glad I didn't get the chance to look into it in advance. There's a good shot I would've passed on it; as of writing this, the Wikipedia entry describes the film as "a family drama exploring a year in the life of a family as the parents separate"... not exactly the most interesting premise. Between this and the remarkably average reviews (aside from the Cannes Festival's Palm Dog Award, given to the film with the best dog actor/actress), I would've probably proposed a different use of these 2 hours. Having now watched the movie, I realize that the movie is in fact as unremarkable as its reviews and synopsis would suggest— there is so little to be directly said about this movie, but that's exactly where its strength lies.
In embracing mediocrity through its slow pacing, realistic characters, and lack of a 'real' plot, The Love That Remains makes a case for mediocrity that has me rethinking my understanding of purpose, and the role that mundane adversity plays into it. I'm not going to use this post as a review; I'm against reading reviews on media you have yet to experience, and I'd be shocked if anyone reading this post has watched it already. I will, however, recommend you watch it if you're intrigued by this post.
While still partially a comedy, the movie is underpinned by some inherently dreadful themes, such as the tragic withering of love into indifference (and eventually resentment), the monotony of labour, and the difficulty in finding one's north star. Despite this, I managed to come out of the movie feeling a real sense of calm and clarity. One part of this was just the raw beauty of the movie's Icelandic setting, spanning from frozen landscapes to moody forests, and even cozy nordic-designed houses. Tied with cinematography that reminded me of all my favorite parts of Moonrise Kingdom, the film manages to capture these striking vistas without the expectation on the audience to appreciate the views. In addition to the physical beauty captured by the movie, the other source of calm for me was rooted in the hyper-realism of the dialogue. This is especially notable from the three children of the main characters Anna and Magnus, who simply live life in a way that feels like a soberingly candid depiction of early adolescence. Hearing the kids' jokes, introspection, bickering, and even discussions on morality made me appreciate the beauty of adolescence in a way I don't often feel. While watching, I often found myself wanting to sit in the room with the family, playing with Panda the dog and listening to the little quarrels between siblings. I can't lie that at some level, this movie has reinvigorated the desire to have kids; I think if I saw my children living in my house the way they did, I would feel fulfilled beyond any level of worldly possession or "adult world" accomplishment.
I also think that the sense of relief that I felt leaving the theater was motivated by a newfound appreciation of mediocrity. I'm sure that my takeaways are likely heavily biased by my current headspace and not what the director intended. I'm even somewhat sure that if you watched this movie after this post, you'd think I'd manage to create a bullshit sandwich from an average movie. That being said, I couldn't help but feel that this movie made failing to do anything right look so beautiful. Magnus (who often goes by Maggi) is an unexceptional individual who isn't shown to have any redeeming qualities. While he can be a bit of an asshole or even cowardly, he also doesn't have the defining flaws, weak sense of morality, or even an intense apathy that would be typical of an unlikable lead character. I think there's a good chance that many people may come out of this movie not thinking a whole lot about this character, which makes sense given how averagely mediocre he is as a person. But god, it was so painful and sobering to see the loop of mediocrity from a third person perspective. The tragedy of mediocrity is that you will constantly unconsciously feel your inferiority, but never have the means or even necessity to either recognize it or do anything about it.
We praise heroes, for obvious reasons. But even villains will develop admirers, despite their supposed poor moral alignment. I'm sure in some cases this is motivated by a belief that the villain isn't actually morally misaligned (think: Thanos or Itachi Uchiha). However, I feel the bigger driver of this romanticization is that the villain ultimately has the capacity and agency to manifest their world view. I think this is most exemplified in media through the trope of the anti-hero, who rarely holds any strong moral stance or badass branding compared to the true heroes and villains. And yet, we still think they're cool solely from the fact that they are relevant simply by being able to do something.
Maggi, on the other hand, can't meaningfully do things. Maggi simply wants to be loved, to be appreciated, to have purpose. And he tries. But throughout the movie, it seems all these attempts often fail in a spectacularly unspectacular fashion.
Camus proposes one interpretation of the myth of Sisyphus through his famous aphorism: "one must imagine Sisyphus happy". Sisyphus, despite being tasked with completing an uncompletable task, is supposed to serve as an embodiment of human revolt against the absurd, demonstrating that meaning can be created through conscious defiance. But what if Sisyphus' uncompletable task was failing to even have the realization to appreciate and love the struggle itself? That is, what if Sisyphus' rock was not the absurdity of the world and its lack of meaning, but instead the inability to process his incapacity? Maggi's tragedy isn't that he pushes a boulder uphill— it's that he can't even find the boulder, but still feels its weight. There's no dramatic defiance to romanticize, no single monumental task to define him. Instead, as the desires for love, purpose, and appreciation dissolve into the background noise of everyday life, he repeats small failures in his life that leaves him failing to ever grasp what to do.
Mediocrity doesn't offer the dignity of a clear enemy. Sisyphus knows his punishment; Maggi doesn't even know he's being punished. And yet, watching Maggi exist in this state didn't leave me sympathizing his misfortune. If anything, it seeded the thought of whether or not the pursuit of action and agency is itself a kind of trap. Maybe there's something quietly beautiful for Maggi to have been born in the cave, never even realizing that he could climb out? Maybe there's something quietly beautiful in loving imperfectly, in trying without succeeding, in living a life that will never be remembered or written down?
I don't know if this was an intentional characterization; the film doesn't seem to even give much attention to Maggi's struggle, at least not as directly as I am speaking to it. Regardless, The Love That Remains has allowed me to find something unexpectedly beautiful in the mediocrity-induced blindness found in the lives of my dad, my ex, my friends, my coworkers, and even myself.