“We will never meet because we live in different times. I cannot send you a glacier, but I can send you this,” says narrator and poet Andri Snær Magnason in the opening moments of Time and Water, a visual time capsule of both Iceland’s rapidly disappearing glaciers and Magnason’s own family. To label it a climate change film is to limit its scope. What Magnason and director Sara Dosa (Fire of Love) are really curious about is the nature of time itself. As the first in his family to say goodbye to a glacier, Magnason explores what Iceland and its glaciers have meant to his family, how they tie into the country’s past and future, and the ways we communicate across time.

Dosa’s Fire of Love, the Miranda July–narrated doc about two volcanologists in love, often felt more sonnet than scientific text. Working alongside an actual poet, thus, feels like a natural next step. The film aims to ensnare you with stunning Icelandic scenery and Magnason’s artful words. Alas, it’s not as successful as you’d hope.

Chosen by Iceland to write a short memorial for a completely disappeared glacier, he must eulogize something he never thought was possible to lose. But he must do so with words that will stand as a memorial to future generations hundreds of years from now. Magnason’s attempt to thread his family’s narrative into the story of the icebergs isn’t a stretch. It makes sense to link the glacier’s disappearance with the loss of Magnason’s grandparents’ way of life and his personal loss of those grandparents.

However, it takes nearly half of Time and Water’s running time to reveal what should’ve been the entire hook. That the film saves it for such a late reveal, unfortunately, does a real disservice to the narrative. As lovely as the prose narration is, without the full picture, the viewer sort of floats through the first half. Combined with Magnason’s soft, gentle Icelandic-lilted voice and the stunning nature photography, the effect is a sleepy one.

Structural issues aside, Time and Water’s approach is still ultimately effective. It acknowledges the grief that comes with losing the world as we knew it, while making it clear that the future is far from certain. Instead of hammering in with the urgency and terror of early climate films like An Inconvenient Truth, Dosa’s approach is far more contemplative. Magnason’s steady tenor and incredible curiosity feel like a roadmap to navigate the emotions of the current moment. The documentary explores how this moment communicates with the past and future, painting a picture that inextricably binds grief to hope.

Not communicating the message as powerfully as it deserves is a definite miss. Nevertheless, it’s one worth listening to.

Time and Water is swept up in the current of theatres now.

Time and Water Trailer: