Even
by Swedish standards, Ove Lindahl is a rigid cold fish. Of course, anyone who
has seen A Christmas Carol knows
there must be a big, sensitive lug inside him someplace. Instead of ghosts, we
will come to understand Lindahl’s past through flashbacks launched by his
unsuccessful attempts to end it all. Suicide might be painless, but it is
surprisingly difficult in Hannes Holm’s adaptation of Frederik Backman’s hit
Swedish novel, A Man Called Ove (trailer here), which opens this
Friday in New York.
Lindahl
is the dreaded enforcer of his townhouse association’s rules and regulations.
He used to be the association’s president, until he was ousted in a coup led by
his former best friend, Rune. Tragically, his usurper has been incapacitated by
a stroke, but the imperious Ove was not asked back. When he is officially
downsized by his longtime factory employer, Lindahl decides it is time to
join his late wife Sonja, which might be
the most considerate thing he has done in years. However, he is interrupted
time and again by his endearingly clueless new neighbors. Against his will,
Lindahl starts to bond with the Persian émigré Parvaneh and her two young
daughters (but her klutzy Swedish husband Patrick remains a bit of a lost
cause).
Old
Ove is exactly the sort of Grouchy Gus just waiting to blossom into a butterfly
that we have seen time and again. Yet, the flashback scenes that explain the
making of Ove pack a real punch. It is surprisingly moving to watch Filip Berg
as the earnest young Lindahl, struggling to release the pent-up feelings he is
so ill-equipped to express. He also forges some poignant chemistry with Ida
Engvoll as his beloved Sonja. Ove’s recurring run-ins with bureaucratic
authorities (the “whiteshirts”) further distinguish the film with unexpected
Kafkaesque dimensions. Still, there is no getting around the cloying
sentimentality of the present day narrative.
Considering
Rolf Lassgård was the first actor Henning Mankell’s angst-ridden detective Kurt
Wallander, we know he can brood with the best of them. He does indeed wring
every drop of dignity out of the manipulative script. Lassgård’s big,
commanding presence is impressive, no doubt about it.
