Set in the remote, wind-swept countryside of Iceland, the film follows María (Noomi Rapace) and Ingvar (Hilmir Snær Guðnason), a childless couple living a lonely life on their sheep farm. Their silence speaks volumes: something has been lost, and they are surviving more than living. One day, during lambing season, they discover something miraculous and deeply unsettling — a newborn unlike anything else. Half-lamb, half-human, the creature is named Ada, and María and Ingvar begin to raise her as their own.
What unfolds is less horror than mythological parable. Jóhannsson treats the bizarre premise with absolute seriousness, creating a quiet, slow atmosphere that lets dread and wonder grow organically. There is little dialogue, but the natural soundscape — bleating sheep, wind through grass, the hum of machines — fills the silence like an ancient whisper. The land itself feels like a character: vast, indifferent, beautiful, and ominous.
Noomi Rapace is mesmerizing — vulnerable and fierce — playing María with a blend of motherly tenderness and primal protectiveness. The film’s emotional power lies in her ability to make us believe in the deep bond between woman and creature, even as we sense the wrongness of it all.
The ending is abrupt and brutal, but fitting — a return to the order of things, indifferent to human sorrow. Like a folktale passed down through generations, Lamb is simple yet profound.
A strange, lyrical meditation on love, loss, and the consequences of defying nature, Lamb is a quiet howl into the wilderness — unsettling, beautiful, unforgettable.
