Jay Rohr
Touch revives the hope inherent in human connection. Yet, it also has the quiet insight of regret that reshapes the future. This is a romantic drama on one level, but on another Touch is about the ethereal nature of all relationships, particularly those which heal the heart.
The film follows an elderly Icelandic man named Kristófer. A widower with declining health, he sets out on a journey to find the love he lost fifty years ago. Set in the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the world is slowly going into lockdown as Kristófer revisits places from his past. Reflecting on his own history, he recalls a doomed romance that he hopes can have a happy ending decades after lovers separated.
In many ways, Touch is a simple story. Yet, it unfolds in a slightly nonlinear form. There’s a regular implication of memories coming to the forefront. This allows the film to pinball between the past and present, stirring up a rich variety of complex ideas. Audiences introduced to a location in the 1970s then encounter it with Kristófer years later and experience the shock of change. There is also the sidewise implication of history haunting every individual. If viewers accept the notion of Kristófer’s journey stirring up memories, it’s easy to begin wondering about the personal past hanging over other characters.
This is especially true given Kristófer’s romance involves Miko, the daughter of a Hiroshima survivor, who is herself a hibakusha. Touch explores the horrors of the nuclear bomb in ways the lauded Oppenheimer is too cowardly to even glimpse. For those unaware, survivors faced prejudice in Japan due to misconceptions about radiation regarding it almost like a curse which in turn led to discrimination.
As such, Touch tells the tale of an elderly Icelandic widower visiting London in search of his lost love, a young Japanese woman whose family survived the horrors of Hiroshima. That allows the movie to show how people are relatable regardless of racial difference. Cultural differences may manifest ethnic idiosyncrasies, but the core of all culture is social connectivity. Touch manages to relate this notion through Kristófer’s culinary journey working at a Japanese restaurant in London run by immigrants.
Director Baltasar Kormákur (The Deep, 2 Guns) does a marvelous job of presenting the cuisine, tying it to ideas of cultural exploration and ethnic identity, but never in a way that slaps the audience in the face. More than anything this appetizing imagery reminds views to take in background details which define the worlds of Touch. That’s to say, the difference between the quarantine vacant streets which are crowded thoroughfares in the 1970s. Paintings and pictures personalize apartments, and note the beauty of landscapes, which sometimes minimize the characters, providing stark reminders of humanity’s place in the grand scheme of things—all of us mere dots in a pointillist portrait of human existence.
Part of the appeal of Touch is its cast who maintains a delicate balance of resemblance juxtaposed against changes in time. Characters are portrayed by young and older performers. Kristófer, for instance, is played by Egill Ólafsson (When the Raven Flies) in the contemporary era while Pálmi Kormákur (The Deep) plays his past. There are similarities between them but also a deepening of traits in the elder Kristófer. Pálmi Kormákur is a shy, bookish individual with fiery convictions belied by his quiet demeanor. Egill Ólafsson is almost a mute protagonist barely speaking above a gravelly whisper throughout. Most of his time is spent listening to others or remembering important conversations. Yet, the weight and nature of Kristófer’s thoughts and joy in his choices seems obvious thanks to subtle expressions by both performers.
Kōki and Yôko Narahashi portray love interest Miko. Neither are established performers. however, they bring a shared sense of this character that tugs at the heart. Model and singer Kōki (Ox-head Village) establishes an effervescent individual whom lyricist and award-winning director Yôko Narahashi tempers into a reserved vibrance. This results in someone who shines losing their glow but still sparkling, which the two expertly convey. Obviously, Yôko Narahashi’s excellent work as a casting director gave her an eye for knowing what part to play. Meanwhile, Kōki manages to express frustrated youth headbutting tradition as well as the ephemeral enthusiasm of love in its first days.
These splendid portrayals are supported by Meg Kubota (Good Omens and Teacup Travels), Masahiro Motoki (Departures), and Ruth Sheen (Vera Drake). Each adds touches of humanity and humor to help sweeten as well as deepen Touch. Masahiro Motoki gives a heartbreaking performance as Takahashi-san, Miko’s father, who not only grows close to young Kristófer, but the performance shows someone making painful decisions they think will spare others suffering. His stoic sadness lends a relatable complexity to events which makes this romance bittersweet.
Based on a book by Ólafur Jóhann Ólafsson, Touch benefits from a tight script. Written by the author alongside director Baltasar Kormákur, the movie is a great example of showing not telling. Concise conversations often express ideas without directly stating them. In the occasions exposition is necessary, it never takes long. Furthermore, the camera captures so much that can’t be put into words. Pinches of humor keep things from being too serious, while the reasoning for actions as well as implications of their consequences are clear. Touch is a movie with obvious poetics, accessible in a way that ensures it makes points while inspiring ideas.
This is an affecting, bittersweet tale of lost love. Moreso, it subtly explores the open wound left by quarantine, that disconnect from humanity lockdown gouged into so many lives. Regret may seem the obvious motivator here, but there’s an optimism at the story’s heart which insists it’s never too late for love. Still, time marches on; the world changes whether we like it or not. Yet, Touch reminds us to reach out, reminding of a haiku by Yosa Buson which roughly translated reads,
“The light of a candle
Is transferred to another candle —
Spring twilight.”
