Songs of Earth

Some may be put off by the slow pace of “Songs of Earth,” but think of it as a feature, not a bug. It is meditative, contemplative and transportive.

A delicate film, one that frequently feels like it benefits more from being experienced than analyzed or interrogated.

A remarkable, poetic meditation, Songs of Earth weaves the smallness of human lifespan into the grandness of the earth’s history, and does it all with unspeakable beauty.

Margreth Olin’s “Songs of Earth,” executive produced by Liv Ullman and Wim Wenders, is a many-splendored thing: a home movie worthy of IMAX theaters.

The scenery conveys a degree of timelessness in which mankind is perhaps a comparatively fleeting presence. But the frequent sound of cracking ice, and snowpacks groaning towards avalanche, remind that this, too, may pass, and sooner than later.

The human part of this movie is a lesson in storytelling humility. When the camera turns to nature, it’s humbling in a very different way.


[T]his gentle, beautiful, and, at times, haunting documentary finds just the right balance of appreciation for the present, grief for the past, and worry for the future.

Mesmerizing, lyrical and poignant.

Remarkable documentary on the sublime beauty of western Norway.

Margreth Olin’s striking doc, Songs of Earth, is the kind of movie made for the big screen where it can sweep you away in its depiction of the vastness of nature—Olin loves to pull back the camera to show just how much of a spec humans really are.