We were delighted to interview Icelandic director Rúnar Rúnarsson, whose film When the Light Breaks illuminates the complexities of life through a poetic lens, revealing personal reflections and the promise of new beginnings.
Icelandic director Rúnar Rúnarsson is genuinely happy that his film, Ljósbrót (When the Light Breaks), opened the Un Certain Regard section at the 77th Cannes Film Festival.
“It’s a big honor and a big practicality as well. It’s a recognition for all the people who made this film to get a platform like this. The practicality of it is, it’s like you want to fly to the moon with your film. This is a much better rocket, maybe it’s a good rocket to reach outer space compared to another rocket. But there are different rockets to try to leave the atmosphere. To a certain extent, it guarantees some kind of minimum distribution afterward. It’s hard for distributors to make their decisions often. For them to reach the audience, they need some kind of verification to get the audience into their cinema,” said Rúnarsson, while looking towards the large banner of Cannes at the grand Lumière auditorium.
But he is hopeful for his film, as he feels that the world is slowly changing thanks to the pandemic, where every kind of film and content was created for OTT and inculcated the habit of reading subtitles, thus opening the audience to world films instead of only English-language films.
“In my small country, Iceland, we have one arthouse cinema there and my films have always been defined as belonging to arthouse cinema. If you don’t have an English-speaking film to begin with, then you’re world cinema. The world is slowly changing. There were some good things that came with the pandemic. People had watched everything that was on Netflix or the streaming services. They started to watch some other stuff. Those who are not used to reading subtitles, it’s not the same obstacle.”
Talking about the title of his film, Rúnarsson says that there is a slight difference between the English and the Icelandic versions. A straight translation of Ljósbrót would be refraction—which is the thing that makes us see. But that’s how the light is being broken. So in Icelandic, it’s put together. The words are Ljós, Brót. So, light and break.
Rúnarsson began writing this story in 2021 and feels that the filmmaking was faster. “One year of writing and preparing financing, one year of financing, and one year of making the film, so in total three years in the making. Thus, it’s a labor of love, of course, because it took so much to make it.”
“Well, each film is different and then after each film I’m different as well. I realized the cast of this film is around 22 years old. I’ve always been disillusioned about my age. So actually making this film, I realized a little bit that I’m not in my 20s anymore. So all my films are personal in one way or another. I write from first- or second-hand experiences and mix it with fiction. I want my films to travel but I was just really happy that I could make this film.”
“I am happy that I could make this film for it is about two friends who had a huge impact on my life. I’m being sincere now, I’m not being fake modest. Of course, I wanted this film to get the best wind under its wings as possible. As mentioned at the end of this film, it is dedicated to two friends of mine who are not among us anymore. They had a huge impact on my life and the lives of other people. I would never have made this film if it wasn’t for them. Is it their story or is it your story involved with them? I don’t tell anymore what is first-hand, what is second-hand, and what is fiction because it’s not relevant.”
He further stresses that it is relevant for him to write about something that he thinks he knows or perceives, something from observation and experience. “Sometimes in my films I am in a reflective state as well. I try to understand myself in a better way sometimes. I would never write about something that I don’t think I have some kind of understanding of. I have an urge to make films and it has to be one way or another. I have to have a personal understanding of it. I don’t write step outlines or treatments because for me, I understand that people do it. But for me, it starts to be so technical. It takes the life out of it for me. It’s just my interpretation of how I function as a writer. But I’m always thinking, I’m always trying to catch some ideas.”
He adds, “If I see something, if I experience something then I write it into a book or a small book that I carry with me. If I don’t have the book, then I send myself an SMS or an email to remember. I have this metaphor for my writing process that I’m standing on a riverbank and I’m trying to reach the other side. So I’m throwing rocks into the stream to have… And hopefully, when I reach that stage that I can jump between the rocks and reach the other state, then I have some kind of a skeleton. I know or I think I know where I’m heading. But then it’s really important for me to have the time capacity to write through. Because in the jumps, one thing is the route that you think you will end up. You know that you’re going to the other side. But maybe mid-way you see another rock that you trust better to land on and all of a sudden you go a little bit different route. And the power between those rocks is sometimes the tissue and the subtext and some other things that were never in your thoughts when you were throwing these rocks. And as well, just to have a sense of time by writing through. So it both keeps the sense of time and some kind of impulsiveness.”
He is very sentimental about his writing and finding the right pace for his film. “Everything evolves, naturally. But when you hit the editing stage, things can get tricky. Some parts might work technically, but you might start feeling a bit disconnected from them emotionally or intellectually. It’s like walking a tightrope: you want to stay open to changes while keeping true to your original vision. You don’t want to suddenly end up with a completely different film just because you got bored with the old one. So, it’s all about finding that balance: staying open, finding solutions, and preserving the essence of what you set out to achieve. And let’s not forget to hold onto the magic that happens during shooting or the first creative spark.”
Of his feature films, there was Volcano first, then Sparrow, then it was Echo and now When the Light Breaks. Talking about the titles of his films, Rúnarsson says, “I like to have the title point in more than one direction. It’s not supposed to be on the nose. I made a short film called Anna and that was just the main character of the film. It’s an exception but I like finding titles that are not straightforward and imply something that can be interpreted in more than one way. I like trying to come up with something that I think is poetic. So far, my Icelandic films all have single-word titles.”
In discussing his filmmaking approach, the director emphasizes the importance of purposefully framing every element on screen, despite the lesser presence of nature in his recent work set in Reykjavik. “I try to have it as a rule in my films that nothing should be in frame unless it has a purpose. Because there is less nature, I guess, in this film than in my previous films. But I’ve tried in my previous films, and that’s just the setting. It takes place in Reykjavik, but there is a mountain view in Reykjavik, the capital, anyway. But the light plays a big part. The light here in Cannes is completely different than in Mumbai.”
“The film takes place in early summer in Iceland, and the magic hour is quite long compared to further North you go. The longer the magic hour is. And the light is really special at that time.”
Comparing it to American production, Rúnarsson works with a skeleton crew but stresses that he tries to have days as well when there is even a smaller crew within his small crew to be able to capture some things.
One year prior to the planned shoot, Rúnarsson started doing the casting sessions. “We were in the beginning emphasizing finding the two young women who are quite central in this film. And then we started building the cast around them. In the beginning, the main character, Oyna, and her boyfriend, which you find out in the first scene, are in a secret relationship. He has a girlfriend that he has to break up with, which you find out in the first scene, so it’s not too much of a giveaway. And yeah, their promise for the future is that they’re going to travel together and they’re going to go to Japan together. And the film takes place in early summer when the light is… We have dark winters in Iceland and it’s a time when the day is getting longer, the yellowness of the soil and grass is getting green.”
Rúnarsson elaborates on the transition from school to adulthood, noting the tradition where graduating students dress up in costumes, such as Teletubbies or Pikachu, and celebrate downtown, getting drunk together. With the film’s main characters mostly in their early twenties, this initial setting symbolizes the promise of a bright future and new beginnings.
“I always collaborate closely with my actors, treating my written script as a blueprint that we discuss together. The dialogue flows naturally for me, like if a chair broke and we ended up on our backsides, I might say “shit,” while you might say “fuck” or just “ow.” Everyone finds their own words for the same experience. They take ownership of their characters, so it’s important for me to understand them personally. When we develop their characters together, it’s about portraying their peers authentically. While I might relate to some aspects, I’m not fully in sync with everything, and I’m also a bit delusional about my own age,” signs off Rúnarsson with an impish smile.
Our reporters are on the ground in Cannes, France, to bring you exclusive content from the 77th Cannes Film Festival—explore our coverage here.
