During the mid-to-late ’90s, Soleilmoon’s mailorder catalog was my primary gateway to a world of esoteric music far removed from Nebraska. Of course, as a college student with meager funds, I had to be very selective with my purchases; as much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t afford the entire World Serpent discography.

I can’t quite remember why the catalog’s listing for Children of Nature that caught my eye — I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of “this soundtrack contains the most beautiful and sublime music you’ll ever hear” — but whatever it was, it was enough to pique my curiosity and merit a bit of the money that I earned from re-shelving books at UNL’s Love Library.

That sort of description might seem awfully hyperbolic, but it’s not far off. Friðrik Þór Friðriksson’s acclaimed film chronicles the journey of an elderly couple who reunite at a nursing home and, tired of its stifling environment, attempt to return to the land of their youth. Children of Nature begins as a poignant film about aging, nostalgia, and the desire for home, but as it progresses, it becomes something more akin to a fairy tale — a feeling that Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson’s soundtrack bolsters with heartbreaking string arrangements, ominous synth ambience, and angelic choirs.

“Ars Moriendi” quickly sets the mood with a performance from violinist Szymon Kuran that pierces straight through the heart, while “Snatis’s Death” and “Journey” employ otherworldly atmospherics that suggest the elderly couple’s journey is increasingly supernatural. Finally, “Coffin” is appropriately mournful, with Kuran delivering yet another moving performance alongside a slow procession of Hilmarsson’s funereal synths.