Coming to VOD and digital today is the 2019 documentary The Last Autumn, a sweeping portrait of how a family of farmers encourages slow living in the Icelandic countryside. Directed by Yrsa Roca Fannberg, the film embraces the stillness of the present by centering its story around an elder couple, Úlfar and Oddny, who fight to preserve their ancestral traditions against an environment of constant evolution.

Shot on 16mm film, The Last Autumn opens in black and white before transitioning into the colorful and picturesque image of Iceland we’re used to seeing. Úlfar and his wife Oddny live in the quaint seaside parish of Árneshreppur, a town in the Westfjords of northwestern Iceland. They lead a quiet life and have settled into a nice little routine tending to their lambs, ewes, and dogs.

Úlfar is the last in a long line of farmers, going as far back as the first settlers to Iceland centuries ago. When Úlfar and Oddny’s grandchildren visit from the “big city” of Reykjavik (population: 139,875) to help with the seasonal sheep herding for the summer, the couple recognizes that due to their children and grandchildren’s lack of interest in rural traditions and a desire to assimilate into modern society, this will be the family’s last communal farming obligation. That summer marked the end of an era.

This slice-of-life observational documentary is an ode to living in harmony with nature, animals, and the seasons. It poetically shows that life is like a spiral; seasons repeat themselves and new beginnings are always on the horizon. We cannot stop or slow down time, only embrace what we have in the present moment and be grateful for it.

The Last Autumn is a mood-setting film. It’s not plot or exposition-driven. Rather, it has a meditative quality that feels like a long, deep exhale, bringing a sense of rejuvenation and gratitude to the viewer after watching. Visually, it is captivating from start to finish. At times the cinematography even dips into an eerie territory. If seen out of context, the shot of the farmers herding the sheep down from the mountain could easily be mistaken for an Ari Aster film. The score by multi-instrumentalist Gyða Valtýsdóttir is deep and bassy, breathing an ethereal quality into Úlfar’s poignant odyssey.

An official selection at multiple festivals including CPH: Dox, HotDocs, and a Special Jury Mention in the New Visions Competition at the Reykjavik International Film Festival, The Last Autumn is a time capsule of a simpler time and a love letter to past generations.