Until the Light Takes Us unfolds in an elliptical, almost mournful manner, full of empty and sometimes surreal shots and strange associative leaps in its argument. Beneath all of the directorial flourishes (which unfortunately still don't make talking heads interesting) is a chronological narrative about the rise of black metal in Norway, a musical movement which quickly spiralled outward into a cultural sensation and an increasingly violent subculture. All of this history, however, is constantly connected to the movement's intellectual and philosophical ideas. You may have heard of the most shocking events related here, but what really surprises is the mindset of the artists involved.
The film's best decision is to take black metal seriously. Rather than playing this material as grand guignol, or indulging in the tabloid fixation on Satanic imagery, Until the Light Takes Us treats the early days of black metal as a kind of bohemian cultural movement full of creativity. This portrayal gives the documentary a tangible sense of loss. What is lost is not just people, but also the sense of potential that black metal represented. There's a really clever scene where a musician travels to an art show based off black metal imagery, and is totally alienated by a culture that has rendered even the most profane image harmless.
Until the Light Takes Us makes a turn that's both clever and disturbing halfway through, when we realize that most if not all of the artists we've been getting to know for the past half hour are violent fascists. It complicates our earlier sympathies and makes us question the validity of the outsider-artist narrative. Of course, by the end we've descended into full-on murder, best captured in an absolutely unforgettable scene where convicted murderer Varg Vikernes tells a highly questionable story of killing his bandmate in the same manner you would describe going to the grocery store.
This film doesn't have much in the way of new material for those who are familiar with the events and musicians involved. But it deserves points for managing to both sympathize with the devil and realize what the implications of that sympathy are.
The film's best decision is to take black metal seriously. Rather than playing this material as grand guignol, or indulging in the tabloid fixation on Satanic imagery, Until the Light Takes Us treats the early days of black metal as a kind of bohemian cultural movement full of creativity. This portrayal gives the documentary a tangible sense of loss. What is lost is not just people, but also the sense of potential that black metal represented. There's a really clever scene where a musician travels to an art show based off black metal imagery, and is totally alienated by a culture that has rendered even the most profane image harmless.
Until the Light Takes Us makes a turn that's both clever and disturbing halfway through, when we realize that most if not all of the artists we've been getting to know for the past half hour are violent fascists. It complicates our earlier sympathies and makes us question the validity of the outsider-artist narrative. Of course, by the end we've descended into full-on murder, best captured in an absolutely unforgettable scene where convicted murderer Varg Vikernes tells a highly questionable story of killing his bandmate in the same manner you would describe going to the grocery store.
This film doesn't have much in the way of new material for those who are familiar with the events and musicians involved. But it deserves points for managing to both sympathize with the devil and realize what the implications of that sympathy are.