Wow. Build a Ship, Sail to Sadness was all that I hoped it might be, but thought, from the programme notes, it might not. Descriptors like “oddball” and “wacky” instantly conjure up (for me) thoughts of slightly left of centre mainstream Hollywood productions brought to life by the likes of Wes Anderson (The Royal Tenenbaums, Rushmore etc). There is nothing wrong with this in itself, but Build a Ship, Sail to Sadness held the tentative promise of being much, much more interesting.

The film follows, in faux-documentary style, the moped-borne travels of sorry loner Vincent (Magnus Aronson) as he futilely attempts to sell his vision of community-building in the rural Scottish highlands via a mobile disco enterprise of which he has dreamed. Citing the loneliness inherent in the rural locale he attempts to convince a string of people who politely point out the fallacy in his base assumption – they are not lonely at all; they have a strong sense of community, and no one would be interested in a disco anyway. Exasperated and feeling continually misunderstood Vincent sinks further into his state of sad delusion.

Interviews with sceptically bemused locals are interspersed with extended footage of Vincent, atop his moped, motoring slowly through the dank drear of the barely changing landscape, only to give way to despair; indulging time and time again in the petrol fumes which serve both as an antidote to isolation and fuel to an impassioned vision of hope. Another feature of this film are the self-composed songs of Aronson which are performed throughout in various background and foreground contexts, providing yet another avenue of disconnection from the reality captured by the camera.

More odd than oddball, director Laurin Federlein’s feature explores ideas of isolation, genius vs madness, audience awkwardness, as well as challenging and number of cinematic conventions. With a picture quality resembling bad, several generations old VHS, blown up so that it distorts even further, it is very difficult to make out details such as facial features/expressions creating a viewing experience somewhat like looking up close at an expressionist painting. Federlein chucks in the occasional sharper image of protagonist Vincent, purposefully using the obvious superimposition to highlight a moment of almost prophetic ecstasy in the midst of his futile wanderings. The majority of the script is improvised as they film ‘Vincent’s’ actual meetings with Scottish locals to talk about the mobile disco concept.

This level of abstraction proved too much for a large proportion of the relatively small audience. A number walked out of the screening part way through and I heard much confused and frustrated comment upon its conclusion. Another portion of the audience dealt with their awkwardness by laughing throughout a film which slowly, as the title suggests, sails deeper and deeper into a surreally beautiful sadness. Although it is understandable to laugh at a character like Vincent, the more you see of him, the more it is like laughing at someone burdened by mental illness. His situation embodies utter sadness mixed in with an inspired, if misguided, utopian dream – not quite of his own making. Simply brilliant.—Jacob Powell