Directed by: Baltasar Kormakur
Written by: Baltasar Kormakur and Olaf Olafsson, based on Olafsson’s novel
Starring: Egill Olafsson, Palmi Kormakur, Koki, Masahiro Motoki, Meg Kubota, Masatoshi Nakamura, Yoko Narahashi, and Ruth Sheen
Runtime: 121 minutes
‘Touch’ taps into tangible feelings of love found and lost
“Looking back as days go by.” – Kristofer (Egill Olafsson)
Director/co-writer Baltasar Kormakur’s film “Touch”, based on co-writer Olaf Olafsson’s 2022 novel, taps into tangible feelings of love found and lost.
It’s about aging and taking inventory of one’s life.
It’s about looking back, touching memories of first love, reaching out for closure, and either shutting a door forever or leaving it open for a second chance.
Well, “Touch” is a sweet, tender, worthwhile story that swims in cross-cultural waters, but it wades in place at times with pacing issues due to the casual beats of ordinary, clumsy courtship rituals.
Kristofer, a septuagenarian Icelander living in his home country in 2020, has health problems. His doctor informs him to address his affairs. This daunting message forces him to immediately ponder a romantic relationship that ended over 50 years ago, and he must seek his long-lost love, Miko.
The film returns to 1969 when Kristofer (also played by Palmi Kormakur, Baltasar’s son) studies at The London School of Economics. This idealist has “lost interest” in his studies. His buddies, who resemble the minor assembly of Harvard snobs in “Good Will Hunting” (1997), don’t understand Kristofer when he quits school to be a dishwasher at a Japanese restaurant near campus.
Quite frankly, Kristofer doesn’t entirely understand his foggy decision, but life clears up when he meets Miko (Koki), the beautiful and kind early 20-something daughter of the restaurant’s owner, Takahashi (Masahiro Motoki).
The congenial and soft-spoken new dish hand has zero food service experience and can’t speak Miko and Takahashi’s native language, but he’s eager to learn. He works hard, pays deference to his co-workers, becomes familiar with the menu, and learns Japanese in his spare time.
Kristofer is a model employee but a bit awkward around Miko, who isn’t shy when asking questions. She makes subtle first moves and peruses him in measured steps while her father isn’t looking. Miko and Kristofer eventually engage in a tender, heartfelt romance, as they spend stolen moments at the restaurant but also between Miko and her dad’s apartment, Kristofer’s place, and the trains traveling to and from blue-collar neighborhoods.
The two immigrants – from different nations - engage in intimate conversations, where they learn about each other’s cultures, but Miko’s past is wrapped in vulnerabilities. The screenplay breaks from traditional dating questions and into fascinating territory when exploring a hellacious period in Japan’s history. Kormakur and Olafsson have plot-device reasons for including this particular fact.
Koki’s Miko is constantly fascinating, as she carries a bold confidence that conflicts with her demure impressions when she’s around her dad. Meanwhile, Kristofer may have shown bravado when dramatically changing his life, but he’s a bit sheepish and willing to be led in his new environment.
As a couple, the two are inexperienced with affairs of the heart, which requires patience from the audience. Their frequent and familiar new-relationship discourse occurs in quiet rooms and free of fanfare. Cinematically, there is little to enjoy in 1969 from a production design perspective, as the couple never explores London’s wonders, like Big Ben, a rock concert at a club, or a trip to the zoo. Instead, Kristofer and Miko pontificate in ordinary spaces, where the most engaging background object (on-set) is a painting of Jesus Christ who faces their bed.
Still, while we visit 1969, we wonder how their divine relationship ends.
Well, Kormakur splits his time between 1969 and 2020 and frequently volleys between the two Kristofers. The technique helps alleviate the slow-as-the-London-traffic pace in 1969, as 2020 Kristofer’s scavenger hunt for clues about Miko jettisons him on a worldwide search.
Egill effectively carries Kristofer’s emotional baggage like a badge of honor. This private, thoughtful character maintains his dignity, but the feeling of loss and the absence of endless time wears on him like an anvil and motivates him to quickly find answers about Miko. It’s not lost on the audience that Kristofer’s determination doesn’t slow or stutter in the face of COVID lockdowns.
Contrasting 1969’s mundane art direction, cinematographer Bergsteinn Bjorgulfsson draws a few absolutely gorgeous shots of natural surroundings and a stunning view of a specific cityscape to accompany 70-something Kristofer on his hopeful journey. Generally, Kristofer is on his own in this massive world, and these sweeping moments help emphasize this point. Still, his stepdaughter, Sonja, occasionally calls, and a brand-new friend, Kutaragi (Masatoshi Nakamura), offers warm, pleasant company for our lead for a short while.
Perhaps Kormakur is saying something about the contrasting art direction styles from 1969 and 2020, where we, as human beings, might take life for granted in our youth but relish every moment in old age.
In our youth, we have all the time in the world…until we don’t.
Jeff’s ranking
2.5/4 stars
