A Crofter's Life in Shetland: Slow Living Before It Was a Trend

Is it worth the watch?

If you have the patience for a film that moves at the speed of a grazing sheep, you’ll probably find something here that sticks with you. It is definitely not for anyone who needs a plot twist every ten minutes or, honestly, any plot at all. If you like human-scale history or just want to feel the chill of a North Sea winter from your couch, give it a go. If you are looking for high-octane drama, you will be asleep before the first wool-shearing sequence ends.

There is something about the way Jenny Gilbertson holds a shot that feels incredibly intimate. You aren't watching actors pretend to be farmers; you are watching people whose hands are clearly stained by the land. It reminded me a bit of the raw, unpolished honesty I felt watching Le chiffonnier de Paris, though the settings couldn't be further apart.

The pacing is honestly a bit of a mess, but in a way that feels authentic. Some chores get way more screen time than you’d ever expect. You sit there watching someone mend a fence for a long, long time. Then, suddenly, we are at a festival, and the energy shift is almost jarring. It’s like the movie forgot it was supposed to be quiet for a minute.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of A Crofter's Life in Shetland (1931) through its definitive frames.

Oddly specific notes from my notepad:

• The wind noise is basically a character in itself. It never, ever stops.
• I spent five minutes wondering if that particular sweater was hand-knitted on site. It definitely looks like it.
• The Up Helly Aa scenes look so chaotic compared to the rest of the year. The transition is like jumping into a different movie entirely.
• There is a dog in the background of one scene that clearly has no interest in being a film star. I loved him.

It’s funny how movies like this don't try to sell you on the lifestyle. It doesn't paint it as a paradise, and it doesn't paint it as a prison. It just shows the work. You get the sense that if the camera stopped rolling, they would have just kept on working without even noticing it was gone.

I found myself thinking about the silence. Not the silence in the film—because the wind is constant—but the silence of the people. They don't talk much. They don't need to. They have work to do, and the weather is probably going to turn anyway. It’s a very grounding experience, if you let it be.

Anyway, it’s a tiny, peculiar piece of filmmaking. It doesn't need to be profound. It just needs to be there. And it is. 🐑🌊