Anna

Powell’s parents are Lucy – one of John’s four children – and Meirion, from Caerphilly, who left Wales for Australia in 2003.

The family would return to these shores to visit their many relatives, with Powell remembering how “dadcu” – Welsh for grandfather – “didn’t stress about anything”.

“I have many memories with him,” Powell said. “But the memories I have are not of the rugby legend Barry John. He was dadcu to all of us.

“He would throw sweets at us in his flat overlooking Llandaff fields. He would tell stories. He was so calm and relaxed and funny.”

When Powell was tasked with doing a school project on a family member, John was the obvious choice.

As a result she rang him for information on his legendary career in which he played for Llanelli, Cardiff, Wales and the British and Irish Lions.

“He was so animated – he would bring up the matches and I could visualise everything. He was such a great storyteller,” she said.

“You could tell he had so much pride for Wales. But he wouldn’t say ‘I did this, I was so amazing’, he praised everyone.

“He said [Sir] Gareth [Edwards] and JPR [Williams] were great players to play with. He would talk about the joy of playing as opposed to what he did.”

The gorgeous, quirky and melancholy “The Love That Remains,” from Icelandic filmmaker Hylnur Pálmason (“Godland”), opens with an exhilarating shot from inside a long, empty seaside building, from where we can see the roof suddenly wrenched off by some exterior force. As it hovers in the air above, we get to consider the two parts of this one-time whole and how the light changes inside this deconstructed space.

In one respect, that’s the whole of the movie encapsulated, as we encounter a family of five living in the wake of a separation. Visual artist Anna (Saga Garðarsdóttir) looks to assert herself while still living in the rural home she shared with her teenage sweetheart. The increasing alienation leaves fisherman Magnús (Sverrir Guðnason) living offshore on a big trawler as his hold on domestic security slips. Their kids, meanwhile — teenage Ída and twin boys Grímur and Þorgils (the trio played by director Pálmason’s own children) — exhibit a healthy absorption of the circumstances, meeting moments of togetherness with plenty of humor and spirit.

What we glean of the past comes from the fragmented present, as if we’re leafing through a stranger’s exquisitely curated album (there’s only Harry Hunt’s piano score for sad commentary). Elsewhere we see that home-cooked meals, chores and foraging excursions occasionally bring this fractured family back together. But when Magnus pushes to stay for a while, Anna firmly claims her independence.

While apart, their working lives — his at sea, hers on land — speak to a confluence of the elemental and the man-made. Pálmason, who serves as his own cinematographer (and a great one with the 4:3 framing), revels in the sweep and heft of deep-sea fishing, a seasonal trade that gives purpose to Magnus’ days and nights but also fosters an increasingly unwanted solitude. Anna, meanwhile, devotes herself to earth art, turning machine-lasered iron cutouts laid on white sheets in the open air into large-scale, rust-patterned pieces. Getting her work appreciated, however, is another matter. In one painfully funny sequence, a visiting gallerist (and gasbag) barely seems to care about her art, showing more interest in a goose’s nest that has materialized in an enclosure.

Is love another natural element susceptible to age and wear? Across a running time tied to the shifting seasons, pocked by images of breathtaking beauty, Pálmason is after a feeling that only patient observance yields: a lasting reality about the passing of relationships. One of the director’s frequent visual cutaways is to a knight-outfitted dummy the children build on a picturesque spot, lashed to a stake. It’s an indelibly amusing and heartbreaking totem, suggesting play and suffering, and eventually manifesting wounds both real and internalized. (The director’s 2022 short “Nest,” which captures the building of a tree house over a year, is a precursor to his temporal approach to this feature.)

On the heels of Pálmason’s masterful “Godland,” a 19th century colonizer epic of faith and conquest that couldn’t be more different, “The Love That Remains” nevertheless positions this filmmaker as a gifted craftsman of adult storybooks, no matter the era or scope. This is a delicate, confidently imagined fiction made with the eyes of a naturalist, the heart of a believer in family, and a sensibility with room for both the Pythonesque and the Lynchian.

Emma Finucane and Anna Morris won gold for Great Britain on day three of the 2026 UEC Track Elite European Championships in Turkey.

Olympic and former world champion Finucane, 23, came into the third day of action in Konya in fine form after setting a new world record for the women’s flying 200m time-trial on Monday.

In the final of the women’s sprint, Finucane’s time of 10.608 seconds was 0.045secs faster than team-mate Sophie Capewell to secure her second gold medal of the event.

Finucane said after her win: “Yesterday I wanted to execute my ride perfectly, and I did; I came away with a world record and I couldn’t believe it.

“But it doesn’t finish there, you still have to race races and the girls were really fast, there was lots of fast sprinting and to come away with this medal and with this jersey means so so much to me. “

Finucane’s Welsh compatriot, Olympic bronze medalist Morris, dominated the women’s omnium to win her third European Championship gold medal.

Morris, who said the “European jersey is really special”, finished 13 points in front of Norway’s Anita Stenberg.

Matt Bostock finished fourth in the men’s individual pursuit.

Great Britain have won seven medals in Turkey, including four golds.