Although Icelandic creativity is appropriately volcanic, most of the films from this tiny country fall into the arthouse category. It may be that Baltasar Kormákur’s Touch is the movie that cracks the mainstream. Devoid of rugged landscapes, lurking demons and sheep, Touch is the kind of wellmade, sentimental drama that audiences tend to adore.
The bulk of the action occurs in flashback, as an old man named Kristófer (Egill Ólafsson) reflects on the days he spent in England in the late 1960s, as a student at the London School of Economics. It’s the heyday of the Vietnam protests and a militant student movement. Due to his left-wing beliefs, the young Kristófer (the director’s son, Palmi Kormákur) finds himself increasingly at odds with his more conservative friends from Iceland, and decides – on the spur of the moment – to drop out and take a job. They are standing in Soho, in front of a Japanese restaurant with a sign saying a dishwasher is wanted. Kristófer applies for the post, and the story begins.
Working for the restaurant owner, Takahashi (Masahiro Motoki), he becomes fascinated with Japanese culture and begins to learn the language. His greatest interest, however, is in Takahashi’s daughter, Miko (played by model and songwriter, Kōki). Little by little a romance develops, although it has to be kept a secret from her father. Takahashi-san is a possessive parent with plenty of secrets of his own, who is unwilling to say much about the family’s life in Japan, or how he lost his wife.
Back in the present day, the elderly Kristófer has had a disturbing diagnosis, and may not have long to live. Already a widower, he decides to close his restaurant and go in search of Miko, his long-lost love objet. This will take him first to London, then Japan. Just to complicate matters, he’s travelling in the middle of the pandemic, having to negotiate lockdowns that make him the last person staying in his London hotel or flying on a near-empty plane.
We become caught up in Kristófer’s efforts to find the woman who has remained lodged in his heart for the past 50 years while his adult life has played itself out. Every lengthy flashback provides more information that helps us understand his reckless quest, and why it is so important to him. I can’t say much more without spoiling the story, which unfolds like a gentle mystery that keeps us guessing but not especially anxious.
Kormákur takes his time introducing us to the main characters, letting us absorb the smallest details. It’s a successful way of engaging our sympathies. He adds details that might be seen as distraction from the main plot, such as an evening Kristófer spends in Tokyo, making friends with a salary-man who takes him to a karaoke bar, or a tattoo he gets in London. Yet each of these asides deepens our appreciation of the character and adds another dimension.
Ultimately, Touch comes across as a sentimental romance enlivened by elements from other cinematic genres. The mystery component is lukewarm but insistent, the appeal to the mature age viewer looms large, the focus on the preparation of food allows an appealing whiff of gastronomy. The narrative moves with the speed of an Icelandic glacier, but never stalls. It’s one of those films that perpetually threatens to become heart-warming but somehow manages to keep the lid on the treacle jar.
Kneecap asks us to consider whether hip hop is a symptom of American cultural imperialism, or a secret weapon gifted to the rebellious subcultures of the world. If you’re a fan, there’s no doubt about the music’s subversive credentials, but like all successful manifestations of popular culture there has to be a right place and a right time.
Director, Rich Peppiatt, would like us to believe that Belfast, circa 2017, was just such a place. The film is a fictionalised bio-pic of Northern Irish hip hop stars, Naoise Ó Cairealláin (AKA. Móglaí Bap), and Liam Óg Hannaidh (Mo Chara), who, together with former music teacher JJ Ó Dochartaigh, (DJ Próvaí), have become cult heroes for their uncompromising political stance and their championing of the Irish language. They are also champions of the drug culture and fluent in wall-to-wall profanity. They play themselves in the film.
The story of the group begins with a police raid on a party where Bap and Chara are drinking and taking drugs. Bap escapes, but Chara is arrested and taken to the police station where he refuses to speak English and demands an Irish-language interpreter. That interpreter turns out to be high school music teacher, Próvaí, who is just as much an Irish nationalist as the young hoodlums. He pockets Chara’s notebook to keep it from the cops, and finds it’s full of lyrics, which he proceeds to set to music. In an almost accidental way, the band is born, launching themselves with an aggressive anthem called C.E.A.R.T.A, which means “rights”.
By this stage we’ve already been introduced to the domestic arrangements of the lead characters. Bap lives in the shadow of a famous father, Arlo (Michael Fassbender), an anti-British paramilitary who has faked his own death and remains in hiding. Arlo has taught has son that “every word of Irish spoken is a bullet for Irish freedom.” Meanwhile, Chara is pursuing a tricky romance with an English Protestant girl named Georgia (Jessica Reynolds). Próvaí’s partner is Caitlin (Fionnuala Flaherty), an aspiring politician campaigning for the official status of the Irish language.
When they start to do gigs in a local bar, Próvaí will join the boys on stage, disguised in a balaclava, in a forlorn attempt to preserve his day job. The highlight of his act is to moon the audience with “BRITS OUT” scrawled on his buttocks. The music is loud and abrasive, the lyrics inflammatory. Great quantities of ketamine, cocaine and MDMA are consumed. In no time at all, Kneecap are famous – much to the displeasure of a self-appointed group of vigilantes, called the Radical Republicans Against Drugs, who see them as a danger to Irish youth.
This mob – a fictional parody of Ireland’s evergreen supply of hotheads and hypocrites – poses as much of a threat to Kneecap’s existence as the police. These are the obstacles to be overcome in this semi-fictional tale.
The film has a rough & ready quality, as though the script was thrown together during a few boozy nights at the pub. The rawness will appeal to some viewers, but anyone who feels squeamish about swearing or drug abuse won’t last five minutes. Although I’m not in those categories, I couldn’t help feeling a bit worn down by the relentless valorising of the band, their patriotic beliefs and bad habits. For while it’s a noble deed to celebrate and help preserve an age-old language, it’s quite another thing to normalise the constant snuffling of mind-bending drugs. There’s a lot of crude comedy in this movie, but it’s not always funny.
Irish cinema has obviously come a long way since the previous Irish-language film to get an Australian release – Colm Bairéad’s The Quiet Girl (2022). Kneecap could just as easily have been titled, A Pack of Noisy Bastards. If you like your music loud, angry and incomprehensible, and are hanging out for a good story about drug-addled anti-heroes who want the British out of Northern Ireland, this is an easy one to recommend.
Touch
Directed by Baltasar Kormákur
Written by Baltasar Kormákur, after a novel by Olaf Olafsson
Starring: Egill Ólafsson, Kôki, Palmi Kormákur, Masahiro Motoki, Masatoshi Nakamura, Yôko Narahashi, Meg Kubota, Ruth Sheen, Tatsuya Tagawa, Siggi Ingvarsson, Starkadur Pétursson,
Iceland/UK, M, 121 mins
Kneecap
Directed by Rich Peppiatt
Written by Rich Peppiatt, Móglai Bap, Mo Chara, DJ Próvai
Starring: Móglai Bap, Mo Chara, DJ Próvai, Michael Fassbender, Josie Walker, Fionnuala Flaherty, Jessica Reynolds, Adam Best, Simone Kirby, Matthew Sharpe, Cathal Mercer, Donagh Deeney
Ireland/UK, MA 15+, 105 mins
Published in the Australian Financial Review, 31 August, 2024