While we come down to the last couple days of Sundance, another festival ramps up across seas – the 44th annual Göteborg Film Festival in Sweden, which this year offered one committed viewer the wholly unique opportunity of enjoying the complete festival lineup in the isolation of an island-bound lighthouse (yes, really). The contest has a bent appeal for any cinephile looking to really lean into the COVID-19 restrictions, or maybe those who are just intent on experiencing complete, intense isolation.

In Land, the directorial debut from Hollywood veteran Robin Wright, the character of Edee (played by Wright) is in search of this exact level of detachment from society (without all the films to watch, of course). She has recently lost her husband and her young son and she has retreated into herself, expressing a want to get “away from people” and be in solitude with her grief in a cabin in the Wyoming wilderness. In order to make herself truly inaccessible to others, she also holds steadfast to going 100% rustic, without electricity, communication devices, supermarket access, or even a vehicle in case of emergencies.

Like introspective human-vs-nature films of its ilk—Into the Wild, Wild, and last year’s Nomadland—the terrain charted in Land is far more emotional than it ever is topographical. Edee becomes absorbed in her thoughts—often the sub-dappled memories of her late husband and son—and finds few distractions to keep the painful images from rushing in. Land is far less sprawling than these other films, though. This is obviously because Edee keeps herself planted in one location, but also because the film keeps a generally languid and pensive pace in comparison to the more explorative and revelatory tales. Wright’s restrained direction keeps things hushed and listless, and the film’s images, captured by ardent outdoorsman Bobby Bukowski (who spent the film shoot actually living in the cabin depicted in the film), inspire a calm and awe. What will keep the images from sticking with you, however, is just how safe this film plays it. Never does it feel it prudent to stray away from the paths carved out by somber character studies before it, nor take any major risks with tone or narrative.

This is all fine if the aim is to present a tame and inoffensive slate upon which Wright can exhibit her commanding performance. Wright has often come off as quite intimidating in her past performances, but at the centre of her own project she is completely open and vulnerable, and this comes across beautifully. Her every line and movement is given an added weight when underlined by the aching, quivering, chamber-style string score (provided by string trio Time for Three, whom Wright discovered). Demián Bichir, who stars as Edee’s one lifeline, provides a weathered but sympathetic shoulder to rest on. The two develop an endearing chemistry that becomes the film’s heart.

Land isn’t a film intent on reinventing any formulas or shattering notions of what trauma on film can look like, but it is a well crafted and assured offering that does everything it sets out to do without over-extending the sentimental angle. For anyone going through some things or just in need of a quiet reprieve, Land will open up. It’s a nice film to spend some time alone with.