Many people longed for the sense of touch denied during the COVID lockdowns. While some folks, myself included, felt relieved that hugs seemed cancelled, others dreaded the barrier posed by physical distancing. There are stories about adapting—“mental hugs,” etc.—but the era had existential implications that were too much to bear.
This recent memory fuels the aptly titled Icelandic drama Touch. The film from Baltasar Kormákur (Beast) marks something of an oddity. While it’s certainly not the first COVID-era production to reflect the pandemic, as many movies and series simply adopted masks, etc. as part of the production, it may be the first true COVID-era period drama. Considering that COVID’s touch technically isn’t over, it’s a bit too soon.
The dynamic of COVID’s recent trauma provides blips of psychological whiplash throughout Touch. It’s a bit unfortunate because the pandemic-era premise strains the credibility of an otherwise touching and sensitively told story.
It’s mere days before the 2020 lockdowns, too, as widower Kristofer (Egill Ólafsson) boards a plane to London. His daughter keeps calling him on the phone. People at the airports on either side of the flight are somewhat jittery. Everyone’s waiting for the world to officially shut down and one can easily recall the atmosphere of unease.
However, Kristofer has recently been to the doctor and expects his next call to detail a diagnosis of dementia. He sees lockdown as something of a finality. He uses this last chance to pursue a love that got away, no matter which corner of the world he could find himself stranded.
Touch moves between past and present as Kristofer retraces his steps in London. Played by Pálmi Kormákur in flashback scenes, Kristofer revisits his days as an anarchist student at the London School of Economics. He takes a dishwashing job at a Japanese restaurant, Nippon, to show his classmates that working isn’t beneath them. He turns out to be a great fit for the gig. The restaurant’s owner, Takahashi (Departures’ Masahiro Motoki in a memorable turn), takes him under his wing. Kristofer learns to cook all sorts of delicate dishes. But, as with all good food movies, things also heat up in the kitchen as he develops a relationship with his boss’s daughter, Miko (Kōki Kimura).
As Touch weaves back and forth and Kristofer explores his memories, it’s clear that the pair had a brief affair. Conversations with fellow Londoners, including an impossibly snooty receptionist who spurts hand sanitizer cautiously, position Miko as a woman whom Kristofer’s been chasing his whole life. His quest takes him around England. He navigates PPE, safe distances (“two metres!”), forehead thermometers, masks, and other COVID precautions to find the one he loves.
With COVID an all too recent memory, though, and some people in the audience inevitably still practicing some of those same precautions, the period setting feels about as tasteless as a quality wine sipped after a positive test. The chronology of some COVID-safe practices also doesn’t add up, like widespread masking prior to the March 2020 global lockdowns. Kristofer’s pleasure-seeking travels, moreover, seem implausible for a time when people could barely get home. His visit to a long-term care facility to see an old friend also doesn’t jive with the way things were. We’ve seen too many documentaries featuring people crying while locked out of facilities that housed their own parents. The continuation of hugs long denied could accentuate the quest.
Touch also tries to make parallels as Kristofer learns more about the past that brought Miko to London. He discover that her father brought her from Hiroshima. Her mother, meanwhile, never left and was buried there.
It turns out that Miko’s mother was pregnant when Oppenheimer’s bomb hit. Miko and her father avoid the topic and Kristofer ascertains that she’s what the Japanese call a hibakusha. It means a survivor of the bombing. The term brings a stigma related to the unknown as survivors worried about the lingering consequences of exposure. Playing the fear of closeness, touch, and proximity during early COVID days off the circumstances that complicate the intimacy between Kristofer and Miko during their whirlwind affair, Touch observes as Kristofer endeavours to overcome the present barriers that echo those that drove them apart.
However, the warm emotional glow of Touch resonates strongly to convey the bond that Kristofer needs to repair. Strong chemistry between Kormákur and Kōki make the flashback scenes a sensuous delight. Fans of foodie flicks like The Taste of Things will relish the way in which the film delights the senses with its attention to food and the intimacy of preparing it—and sharing it—with a loved one. But the food also connects the film’s cross-cultural sensibility as it provides a vehicle for people to overcome prejudices of the time.
Londoners remain suspect of their Japanese neighbours and restaurateurs, for example. Kristofer’s landlady (Ruth Sheen) advises him to “watch out” for his Japanese friend, while his classmates earn disapproving looks at the bar for sharing sake shots with cheers of “kamikaze.” Kristofer and Takahashi, meanwhile, bond over the monkfish—ugly, but scrumptious. A reminder not to judge by appearance.
Captivating performances by Kormákur and Kōki envelope Touch in nostalgic warmth. They lend a stirring afterglow to Kristofer’s quest in the present and ensure that the final leg of his trip in Hiroshima proves palpably cathartic as he chases intimacy long denied. Kormákur in particularly has a compelling, tender screen presence.
Meanwhile, director Kormákur might best be known for large scale dramas like Everest, Beast, 2 Guns, and Adrift, but he conjures a stirring sense of tenderness here. The COVID-era period trappings of Touch twist one’s emotions with an all-too-recent reminder of the fleeting relationships we take for granted. Even audiences who hate hugs IRL might appreciate the film’s glowing embrace.
