Baltasar Kormakur directs the story of a widower with early-onset dementia who embarks on a transcontinental journey to find his soulmate during the pandemic in this tearjerker filled with humanity and hope.
The one that got away is a romantic notion that has been widely propagated by pop culture cinema. And for good reason, as heartfelt drama and compelling conflicts authentically emerge from these run-ins with fate. Director and co-writer Baltasar Kormákur’s “Touch,” based on the novel of the same name by Ólafur Jóhann Ólafsson, expands on this swoon-worthy idea, elegantly crafting an achingly moving story centered on an older man searching for his true love amid a time of uncertainty. This gentle, unpretentious romance contains a touching ending that is as classically restrained as it is emotionally resonant.
Director: Baltasar Kormákur
Writers: Olaf Olafsson, Baltasar Kormákur
Stars: Egill Ólafsson, Kôki, Palmi Kormákur
Kristofer (Egill Ólafsson) lives a solitary life on the cold coast of Iceland since his wife died years ago. His days consist of singing in a male choir, talking on the phone to his overbearing daughter Sonja (Harpa Elísa Þórsdóttir), owning a restaurant in his quiet village, and returning to the sad, quiet sanctity of an empty house. Concerned about the slight memory problems he has been experiencing, he visits his doctor only to learn that he is in the early stages of Alzheimer's and must put his affairs in order before it is too late. This becomes the catalyst for a journey of a lifetime.
The only action on Kristofer's to-do list is to find out what happened to Miko (Kôki), his first true love, who left him half a century ago when he (played in his younger years by Kormákur's son Pálmi) was living in London. Their first chance meeting at his father Takahashi-san’s (Masahiro Motoki) Japanese restaurant, Nippon, led to a clandestine affair, the sudden loss of which caused a domino effect on their marriage years later. However, just as our hero sets out on his quest for answers, the world begins to shut down due to the COVID-19 pandemic. A race against time is on as he travels from Iceland to England to Japan.
With a litany of action-packed films on Kormákur’s resume — from shoot-em-up movies like “2 Guns” and “Contraband” to survival stories like “Everest,” “Adrift” and “Beast” — it may seem like an odd choice to paint a deep portrait of complex adult circumstances where there are no big set pieces aside from the revelations. No matter the genre, though, he has always elevated the material, capturing interpersonal relationships and character-driven drama with honesty, sensitivity and intelligence. In “Touch,” the director’s singular vision is distilled to its purest form within the conflicts and connections within, whether it’s a stranger in a bar reflecting on his life well-lived or Hiroshima survivors haunted by their past trauma.
Kormákur and Ólafsson, who share co-writing duties, ensure there’s never a dull or wasted moment. Though it lacks a stronger connection between the alternating timelines beyond narrative purpose, the nonlinear plot is never confusing. They instinctively allow the tension to steadily build up to its gripping third-act climax, which has depth and delivers tear-jerking catharsis. The film moves at a brisk pace, with even quiet moments of respite when our hero is deep in thought, recalling the past that shaped him into the pained man we see in the present.
Miko and Kristofer’s romance and eventual reunion not only provide the narrative engine, but further depth is achieved by exploring the blossoming friendship between Kristofer and Takahashi-san in an era not conducive to cultural empathy. Supporting characters, such as the charming Japanese waitress Hitomi (Meg Kubota) and opera-singing chef Arai-san (Tatsuya Tagawa), also have rich, economical interiorities.
Kormákur and company evoke feelings of affection and heartbreak with superb visual dexterity. He and cinematographer Bergsteinn Björgúlfsson maximize atmospheric appeal using subtle modulations within the cool color palettes of blue and warm sepia-washed hues. Diffused lighting illuminates Miko and Kristofer’s unspoken, interconnected longings. Occasional bubble-like lens flares from natural light pouring into rooms lend shots a fresh, cheerful luminosity. Production designer Sunneva Ása Weisshappel creates intimate environments for these characters to perform in, from the bakery-turned-commercial kitchen to the walls of Kristofer's desolate home.
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