Screaming Masterpiece ( Gargandi snilld) (12A)

Dir. Ari Alexander Ergis Magnússon, 2005, Iceland 87 mins

Cast: Björk, Sigur Rós, Múm, Bang Gang, Mugison, Quarashi, Minus, Apparat Organ Quartet, Eivør Palsdottir

Surely the most ambitious film title of the year, Screaming Masterpiece is a flag-waving celebration of the contemporary Icelandic music scene, and an attempt to answer its own self-gratifying, singular question - why have so many of Iceland's modest population (roughly 600,000) achieved international recognition as musicians whilst maintaining a keen sense of national identity? What is it about this hostile environment that inspires such transgressive musical continents, these tectonic architectures finding homes in discerning collections worldwide?

Armed with extensive concert footage, archives, pop promos and interviews, director Ari Alexander Ergis Magnússon maintains a passive presence as he presents us with a quick-fire collection of artists, from native folk singers and instrumentalists like Slow Blow, via rappers Quarashi, to successful sonic pioneers like Múm and Sigur Rós. However, the film's modest box office potential lies with the singer and actress Björk, who despite global success, has continued to source inspiration from her mother country, sampling in her own words, Iceland's "emotional landscape".

From the opening credits, awash with glacial hues, the film celebrates the marriage between traditional and modern music, with a folk song segueing into a cacophony of riotous punk. Whilst many of the smaller (and unpronounceable) bands have yet to be heard outside the barren, blackened shores of their homeland, the film allows them equal space alongside the more exportable talents, and Magnusson seems keen to indulge the depths of obscurity, including pagan folk singers and xylophones made of flint.

For the uninitiated, any sense of chronology is belatedly provided halfway through the film, perhaps an attempt to reflect the free-flowing nature of its subject. Drawing upon 23 year-old footage from Fridrik Thór Fridriksson's in Rock in Reykjavik ( Rokk í Reykjavik ), which features a teenage Björk in punk collective Tappi T í karass, Magnússon traces how the end of Iceland's relatively recent colonialism spurred a wave of creative nationalism, with Björk explaining, "When my generation came along we started to ask ourselves what it meant to be Icelandic and how to be proud of it instead of feeling guilty all the time."

Set adrift both culturally and geographically from mainland Europe, there is reason enough behind the sense of communal isolation that invites a comparison with fertile musical centres like Manchester or Detroit . However, those musical cities thrived in spite of adversity, where it is evident here that the Icelandic government, heads of religion and affluent economy all actively foster artistic expression and adolescent ambition, including a teenage punk band Nilfisk, who feature here opening for US rockers Foo Fighters after a chance meeting.

While the layering of scenic snowdrifts and cavernous vistas may leave you feeling a little cold, the concert performances provide plenty of thrills and chills, and one of the film's greatest assets is the live sound mix, literally booming from the Dolby speakers. From the ethereal wailing of Sigur Rós to Björk, whose powerful vocals seem projected by some innate force, all the artists share a raw energy and desire to embrace new technologies and sounds while remaining true to their folk heritage, which perhaps best defines the "Icelandic sound".

In the end, despite an admirable sense of almost bohemian idealism, Screaming Masterpiece feels like something of an iceberg, its hidden depths never quite surfacing. Even at a brief 87 minutes, the continuous stream of artists, bands and collectives is an exhausting affair and the film ultimately falls short in fully addressing its proposition. One suspects that the more interesting points about cultural colonialism, environment, religion and heritage are lost amid the attention-deficit-editing.

Even if the film does feel like Michael Winterbottom's own flag-waving 9 Songs sans the sex, for those who already have an interest in the bands on display here, this is a great chance to catch them sounding never better, and perhaps discover some new music to add to your iPod.