The genre of curmudgeony old men finding a new lease on life — and maybe even some redemption — after begrudgingly falling in with a youthful neighbors is, by now, a bit trite. In part because, not only has it been done to death, but so often the films themselves are overly simplistic and steeped in cliché. By its very nature it’s a patently sentimental genre: said curmudgeon is always lonely and always externalizing some internal failing, only to slowly but surely see the errors of his way, make good by his new friends, and, most obviously, make peace with himself. It’s a mold that “A Man Called Ove” fits neatly into. Only, like the titular Ove, it’s a stubborn film, one that revels in its sentiments unabashedly, and for that, manages to morph into something of a heartfelt — though deeply unoriginal — success.
Based on the book of the same name by Fredrik Backman, “A Man Called Ove” follows Ove (Rolf Lassgard), a man of a bygone era, stubbornly clinging to his principled way of life in his idyllic Swedish village. Ove is the epitome of hard working; he lives by his routine, which includes walking through his small carless neighborhood every morning, checking that every sign is firmly rooted in the ground, every gate is latched, and every garage is locked. He writes personal citations in his notebook and seizes improperly parked bikes. This staunch resolve has made him the antagonist of his tight knit community, a role he grumblingly adheres to.
Ove, of course, recently lost his wife. The details of her death and the extent of his open-wound grief are withheld for much of the film, but early on, Ove envisions himself as simply tidying up the last loose ends of his life and their beloved home before joining her. The only problem is, Ove is rather bad at killing himself. That, and the world doesn’t seem to want to be done with him yet.
Each suicide attempt, in a bit of delightfully black humor, is used as a moment to flashback through Ove’s life, to introduce his patient but silent father, the early hardships of his life, his continued battle with the “whiteshirts” (meddling agents of companies and the government), and eventually, Sonja (Ida Engvoll), his recently deceased wife. These flashbacks, at first, have the distinct waft of painful cliché. But, as Ove grows into a young man (as played by Filip Berg) the sheer earnestness of the film, combined with competent filmmaking and rich, subdued cinematography, allow the flashbacks to begin earning a fair amount of the emotional weight that “A Man Called Ove” asks for.
The catalyst for Ove’s present-day redemption is Parvaneh (Bahar Pars), a young, pregnant, married mother of two who has just moved in across the street. In the middle of Ove’s first attempt to hang himself, Parvaneh’s husband backs their trailer straight into Ove’s mailbox, an injustice worthy of calling off his hanging to berate the “idiots.” Parvaneh is, of course, undeterred by Ove’s brash nature, kind to his rude, warm to his cold. So, despite his attempts to push her and her family away, she needles her way into the emotional folds of his life.
In too many ways to count, “A Man Called Ove” ticks off the genre staples one by one — its only truly original element being the continued conceit of suicide, which carries a darkness that the rest of the film never really matches. Yet, ‘Ove’ manages to become a truly pleasant film, something akin to a crowd-pleasing tearjerker. This success, comes in part from the solid, no frills work of director Hannes Holm (who also adapted the screenplay). No matter the familiar narrative and the cliched cast of side characters, the light touch concoction of these particular ingredients is undeniably satisfying. Mostly, though, the heart and soul of the film is born of Lassgard, Pars, and Berg. They imbue life into their characters in a way that the script couldn’t have imagined. And Lassgard and Berg both expertly mine the nuances of Ove: he is a brash, physically assertive man carrying a burden — a grief, really — that he does not understand.
For all its earnestness though, “A Man Called Ove” is still painfully predictable, and much of its sentimentality is telegraphed from a mile off. (Not to mention that some of the narrative beats are muddled beyond understanding and one central conflict is based around one character liking Volvos more than Saabs.) Still, it’s hard to resist the joy of the film, the unbridled heart, and Ove’s tremendous, hilarious hatred for all the idiots of the world. [B-]
