If Scandinavian filmmakers are a new force to be reckoned with in the cinematic world, we’d all best prepare ourselves for some long, dark winters.

In the case of “Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself,” previews, as previews will, gave us all the positive things that could be said about an undeniably negative film. It is well acted, well written and well photographed. Two accurate adjectives were seemingly deliberately left out: ugly and depressing.

The titular character’s persistent, suicidal thoughts and efforts are presented as dark comedy. Unlike the more likeable Bud Cort in “Harold and Maude,” Jamie Sieves’ Wilbur’s attempts are genuine and, contrastingly, comprise the film’s lightest moments.

Set against a cold grey Glasgow backdrop, Director Lone Scherfig (“Italian for Beginners”) finds her Danish muse in the bleak, Northern twilight. Never before has the historical, cultural connection between Scotland and Scandinavia seemed clearer.

“Wilbur” is a well-crafted film, with the exception of its final 20 minutes, which translate into about four hours of slow death for the unsuspecting viewer. Its ultimate effect is a tourist ad for Scotland in the same vein as “Trainspotting.”

Indeed, the similarities between the films are noteworthy, if only for the inaccurate picture they paint of Scotland as a totally joyless place. In “Wilbur,” “Trainspotting’s” heroin abuse is replaced with death and self-destruction in countless other forms, with shocking images replaced by real, palpable, empty sadness.

The film surely achieves its goal in shining a dreary light on life’s sad transience. The drawback is that many of us see enough of that in reality. A fine film, unless you want to be cheered up.

Icelandic director Dagur K?ri’s “Nói” seems only moderately more chipper to begin with. Nói is an adolescent in a small, coastal, Icelandic town. It is winter, and everything is white with snow, haze, and provincial tedium.

The pale surroundings are a perfect metaphor for teenage isolation. Nói (Tómas Lemarquis) is alone, distanced from the good-natured grandmother with whom he lives, and from his reprobate father. He is utterly disinterested in school, and possibly in anything at all. His wan, bald visage makes him the posterboy for either unhappiness or apathy ? maybe both.

The film hinges on a constant fear of what will happen next: something horrible or nothing at all. Nói needs something to motivate him. He is the sort of potential genius who may come to nothing if he is never able to find stimulation.

Is love the incredibly obvious and simplistic answer? Maybe, but not in the sappy, Hollywood way we might expect. Can someone like Nói find love, meaning, stimulation in the damp shadow of Iceland’s coastal peaks?

The expectation of a decisive ending keeps the film from suffering from its protagonist’s malaise. It is not happy, but not kill-yourself-miserable like “Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself.”

The viewer has to search through piles of metaphor to find “Nói’s” glimmer of hope, but it is there ? just hidden under blankets of Scandinavian bleakness.