It’s well established now that A24 genuinely dance to their own beat. In the past decade, the studio has been responsible for some of the more demanding, most experimental and, well, best horror movies. But A24 delivers more than just ‘horror’, there’s usually a memorable experience accompanying their movies and their latest offering Lamb is certainly no different. Set in the rural wilderness of remote Iceland, Lamb is the story of a farming couple beset by the tragedy of child loss who upon discovering a bizarre hybrid newborn in their stables decide to raise it as their own child. Of course, as this is an A24 movie, there are darker forces at play and the couple aren’t the only ones who want the ‘child’ for their own. Like the titular entity, Valdimar Jóhannsson's movie is itself a strange hybrid. It’s alluring, meandering, intriguing, boring, beautiful and disjointed all at once. The majority of the runtime consists of silent depictions of quaint domesticity, we see Rapace’s María and Hilmir Snær Guðnason’s Ingvar go about their daily routines and Lamb is never in a rush to move things along or to deliver ‘scares’. This isn’t a scary film; you won’t find jump scares or things that go bump in the dark. Instead, you’ll find a portrait of grief, friction, conflict, and trauma delivered against an anomalous atmosphere that creates the uneasy ambience that permeates the entire movie (sidenote: I felt a hint of Ingmar Bergman’s spirit whilst watching). Jóhannsson is also more than happy to allow his story to coast on its ambiguity. Ada, the half-lamb-half human creature, receives no exposition and the ease in which the couple accept and raise it is disconcertingly glossed over. What exactly the director is attempting to say here isn’t immediately clear though the biblical allegories are obvious for all to see and comprehend. The frustratingly blunt and abrupt ending is less simple to grasp, however. As our focal (human) points, Rapace and Guðnason are excellent throughout which proves crucial to preventing Lamb from falling apart. Björn Hlynur Haraldsson, too, as Ingvar’s brother Pétur is strong and acts as the audience's conduit with his initially bewildered approach – there's a genuinely humorous unease when Pétur first meets Ada at the dinner table - though his infatuation with María seemed like handy and unnecessary story padding. It’s this narrative stretching that sees Lamb stumble towards its conclusion - at times, I found myself thinking this would have made a superb short film. Lamb is a movie that will linger with you for a while after viewing, it’s easy to dismiss it as nonsense but it carries real intrigue and beauty (as well as breathtaking natural visuals). The ambiguity will undoubtedly deter many, but, despite its stumbles, Lamb is one of the year's more interesting releases. The sheer benevolence in the shadow of such absurdity is unnervingly engaging even if the movie itself isn’t spectacular.