Rollin’ Plains – Review

Rolllin’ Plains hit me like a half-warm korv med bröd at Gärdet on a rainy Midsummer’s Day. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be comforting or just kind of sad, but you eat it anyway, you know? With Ethan Hawke meandering through those endless wheat fields, I kind of felt like I was nineteen again, stuck on a broken moped outside Falkenberg—just waiting for *something* to happen.

Gotta admit, seeing Frances McDormand in cowboy boots cursing at that stubborn tractor made me choke on my kaffe. She’s got that dry wit down, like a Gothenburg aunt, and, I mean, she’s always fun to watch even if the role here is a bit…thin soup, maybe? I dunno. You sense she could’ve brought out more if Daniel Bergman (yeah, Ingmar’s kid) hadn’t gotten so hung up on all the long, moody shots of grass blowing around like it was an Åsa-Nisse film pretending to be serious.

The music, by Atticus Ross, is this strange, humming thing, a bit like tinnitus after a Joel Alme gig (not cool). There’s even a dance-off in the granary that feels, I swear, like something from Allsång på Skansen had a weird love child with Fargo.

What stuck, honestly, was that awkward family dinner scene where nobody says what they mean. Reminded me of my own Julbord in ’94, when my cousin accidentally confessed she hated köttbullar. Sweaty, weird, sharp at the edges – totally spot on.

I mean, the story? Kinda goes everywhere and nowhere, like waiting for pendeltåget on a Sunday. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes just annoying. If you’ve ever been homesick for a place you don’t even like, this movie scratches that itch. So, grab a kanelbulle and let the wind blow in your face – or just stick to rewatching Bo Widerberg’s masterpieces, up to you.

watch the full movie on Mavshack Movies on YouTube

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