“Woman at War” as a Blueprint for Social, Political, and Environmental Change: An interview with Halldóra Geirharðsdóttir

Photo: Sædís Harpa Stefánsdóttir

Throughout my classes this semester we discussed contradictions in how we address pressing ecological issues. It made me think about Benedikt Erlingsson’s film Woman at War (Kona fer í stríð).  I interviewed Halldóra Geirharðsdóttir, who plays the film’s protagonist. She has acted in remarkable films such as Devil’s Island (Djöflaeyjan), Angels of the Universe (Englar alheimsins), Of Horses and Men (Hross í oss), and Metalhead (Málmhaus). I have admired her work since my teenage years. Halldóra is kind, down-to-earth, and was a punk rocker too. She plays the saxophone under the artist name Dóra Wonder and is also a professor in the Department of Performance Art at the University of Iceland.

“I love doing films,” says Halldóra. “Sometimes I am afraid the audience gets tired of me, so I welcome different challenges, this way I feel that I can still surprise my audience later".

Systematic or individual change 

Woman at War is Halldóra's first starring role, and it’s well-deserved. “It is my favorite [role], the first time where I get a part and hold the tension throughout the whole film. There were no parts for women of my age in Iceland. I have done very small parts before,” says Halldóra.

Halldóra plays twins Halla (The Mountain Woman) and Ása. Both required distinct preparation, as she explains: “...to prepare for this film, I met with yoga teacher and flower expert Kristbjörg Kristmundsdóttir.” The sisters’ dynamic in the film involves two different energies familiar to yoga practitioners: “Halla is the embodiment of rajas energy, representing movement, passion, and desire,” she explains. Halldóra’s exemplary physical performance running through the Icelandic landscapes attests to that. She is a saboteur who takes it upon herself to fight for change by undermining the operations of an aluminum factory in Iceland. Ása, on the other hand, represents sattva, the energy of balance, and believes in bringing about peace through small acts of kindness. 

Halldóra asks me if I will become an Icelander, which gives me flashbacks of my journey up until this very moment with her. There is a part of me that refused to accept oppression and inequality. Growing up in São Paulo in a lower-middle-class family, attending classes in a dangerous school,  I became aware of economic and social injustices. I did what I could to steer away from trouble. I used to meditate, something Ása would do. Later in life, I attended workshops on the rights of former Yugoslav workers in Slovenia and visited the Roma community in Slovakia, where I lived in order to make ends meet. As an immigrant for 14 years, there were limits to what I could or couldn't do. In the world’s eyes, non-EU immigrants are not “expats” and do not “relocate.” These terms come from the vocabulary of power - something I think Halla would understand. 

Paradoxically, Halldóra tells me that the director had similar dreams of being an activist and found other ways to channel his energy: “He’s a father and could not risk being put in jail… So he made a film to inspire young activists.” 

The Lady of the Mountain and her small interventions 

In the film, the activist Halla is referred to as fjallkonan, which means “lady of the mountain.” This alludes to the personification of the Icelandic nation as a woman referenced in literary works and paintings from the 19th century. I would like to explore one specific scene where the symbolic reference to the lady of the mountain becomes clear. During a walk in Þingvellir, the president, played by Jón Gnarr, presents the country to a group of investors. He describes the location and its historical significance in a comic way, as a “ring of power, like in The Lord of the Rings.” Meanwhile, politicians are receiving notifications on their phones that Halla has gone into action again. The scene depicts the political establishment, represented by politicians and technocrats, forming an “ancient circle” like in the “old days” to discuss how to put a stop to Halla’s acts of sabotage. Þingvellir was the original birthplace of the Alþingi (the national parliament of Iceland), which is considered the first parliament in modern history; thus, the symbolic relevance of the scene. The fjallkona, then, the embodiment of the Icelandic nation, descends from the mountains to rescue her land, disrupts “business as usual,” and compels the establishment to react.

At this point, Halldóra tells me that the name Halla was not chosen by chance: “Halla is the name of one of our most famous outlaws [from the story of Fjalla-Eyvindur] in the highlands of Iceland.” 

She continues, “It was very clear for [the director] that [society] needs a greater change, but he wanted to see how one woman could go about doing it all by herself. Money has to understand that Iceland is unstable.” Halla's small but radical interventions “were making Iceland into an unstable place to buy electricity,” says Halldóra. 

The film’s aftermath

Interestingly, the film was better received abroad than in Iceland. Halldóra suspects that the complexity, abundant action, and various themes they tried to convey partially explain the difference. The film is a call to action and exposes the conniving ways we as a society contribute to the ecological, social, and political issues we claim to fight against. And if one engages in acts of resistance, the State is prepared to unleash an unimaginable display of power and control.

The dichotomy between Halla and Ása underlines two distinct reactions to what has come to be known as climate anxiety, a symptom of an age when sustainability dominates the global discourse. We have all internalized the great challenges of the 21st century, and each of us has developed a different coping mechanism. The story of the sisters could just as well be the story of one individual. Either through activism or confinement followed by meditation, Halla and Ása aim at contributing to the common good. 

“My children were teens when they saw the film,” says Halldóra, “and they had so many questions on environmental activism and ethics, about being a human being on this planet. It was educationally very strong.” Halldóra says she suspects the film would have had a greater impact in Iceland if it had been seen more widely: “We should have allowed the film to flow in more sattva.” 

It could be that the moment in time when the film was released did not allow for greater popularity. However, I think the aspects of the film Halldóra and I discussed make it timeless and it will become a true Icelandic and international classic on social, political, and environmental change. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.