A good song heals a painful moment. It can fill awkward silence, shift emotions, relieve tension, connect hearts, and inspire forgiveness. As mellow songs arise throughout The Ballad of Wallis Island, one can’t help but wonder how many songs it takes to mend a broken heart. As the band McGwyer Mortimer unexpectedly reconnects years after a two-fold breakup, old songs inevitably carry heavy memories. However, when Herb McGwyer (Tom Basden) arrives on Wallis Island, he believes he’s playing an intimate one-man show.
Moreover, when Herb splash lands on the shores of Wallis Island, his host, Charles Heath (Tim Key), illustrates another great power of song: music can shut people up. Charles, simply put, may be one of the most annoying characters ever to grace the screen. He is not a person with whom one wants to be stranded on an island.
Key, who wrote The Ballad of Wallis Island with Basden, clearly intends his do-gooder to grate on the nerves. One can’t really fault a film for achieving a character goal. One can, however, begrudge it. Charles is McGwyer Mortimer’s number one fan, and his incessant gushing mixes obsession and enthusiasm a little too giddily. Charles makes Misery’s Annie Wilkes seem like a docile enthusiast by comparison.
He’s pretty harmless, though, and Herb needn’t worry about his ankles. But warning bells go off when it becomes clear that Charles isn’t being fully transparent about the gig, especially when Herb learns that his accommodations and his host’s country chateau are one and the same. Herb, however, needs the money. He sees the concert as necessary income to fund his impending solo album. The album, Feat., encapsulates the former folk artist’s revolution as a full-fledged sell-out. It’s a bunch of embarrassingly poppy and awkwardly danceable tracks that crib off the talents of featured artists. Charles only wants to hear the old stuff, though. Herb accepts the peculiarity of the situation and dusts off his memory.
When Nell Mortimer (Carey Mulligan) arrives with her husband Michael (Akemnji Ndifornyen) a day or two later, though, Herb learns the extent of his host’s deception. Nell now makes chutney and doesn’t mind coming out of retirement for a gig to please a wealthy benefactor. She still likes their old songs and has nothing to prove.
Songs ease the tension, which erupts in comedic flickers as Charles, something of a dweeb, begrudgingly gives his act some space to rehearse. Whenever Charles leaves the scene, The Ballad of Wallis Island hits the right chord. Basden and Mulligan have wonderful chemistry and harmony. Their voices gel beautifully and it’s easy to see why the ditties of McGwyer Mortimer enthrall Charles so. (He has a vast collection of their albums, videos, and memorabilia, including a lock of hair he thinks is Nell’s but it isn’t.)
Charles and Nell reclaim the magic best they can while rehearsing in their strange quarters. But the songs, penned from the deep love they shared years ago, can’t articulate the same mutual feelings now. Nell’s moved on. Herb hasn’t. What once was harmony now plays as discord to their trained ears and hearts. The romanticism of the land—what a cinematic setting!—accentuates the storm of emotions wafting through the air.
Wallis Island, a fictional harbourless place (they shot in Wales), serves as a perfect reflection of Charles’ wholesome-yet-irksome quasi-charm. Everything here is twee to the point of farfetched. The local shopkeeper (Sian Clifford) doesn’t know what peanut butter cups are thanks to a life of social isolation. She also has the hots for Charles in a storyline that helps win him over for the audience. It probably benefits to be the only single people on an island with a single-digit population.
As island winds whip emotions around these lovebirds, the music wafts in and out of The Ballad of Wallis Island. Charles listens to his extensive McGwyer Mortimer record collection, while the duo rehearses. Every time a ballad infiltrates the film and forces Charles into awed silence, one refreshingly shares the fan’s esteem. These terrific compositions can’t help but endear even the crankiest person to Charles. There’s great warmth to the medley of each heartfelt acoustic track.
Each song comes penned by Basden, too, so Herb delivers everything straight from the heart. They’re lived-in numbers weighted by their journey from love songs to expressions of heartache. But when Charles’ true motivation for the concert reveals itself, Herb’s songs assume a new layer of poignancy. Even though McGwyer Mortimer may never truly be back together again, love never fades: it just takes new forms.
Much in the fashion of Inside Llewyn Davis, which also featured Mulligan’s wonderful vocals, The Ballad of Wallis Island should be remembered as one of the great movie soundtracks. Both in the context of the film and as stand-alone listening, the music really understands the place from which McGwyer Mortimer’s passion—shared ever-so-enthusiastically by Charles—emerged. Every track, frankly, deserves consideration come next award season with “Give Your Love” and “Lover, Please Stay” among personal favourites. (Charles loves “Raspberry Fair.”)
The Ballad of Wallis Island evokes an experience many people in the audience know all too well. It’s like being at a concert with an obnoxious fan with a story to tell for each song. But the warm harmony of the chords can’t help but inspire one to forgive his unbridled enthusiasm. And when he’s silent, the film truly sings.
