David O'ConnellThe Girl in the Cafe
December 19th 2008 02:32
An intimate British telemovie with subtle complexities, The Girl in the Café (2005) is distinguished by two delicately restrained performances by Bill Nighy and Kelly Macdonald. Their characters are lonely, damaged people, though Nighy’s Lawrence more obviously so as the early scenes firmly establish with fleeting glimpses of his isolation even amongst people.
Lawrence is a middle-aged civil servant, an underling of the Chancellor of the Exchequer or Finance Minister (Ken Stott), but devoutly seeking solitude beyond his duties which he performs as if they are all that sustains his life. He’s a mass of hesitant tics and gestures regretted a moment later, devoid of social skills. A man physically contorted by inhibition, his awkwardness is somehow endearing and gently moving.
His life changes course when forced to ask a pretty woman, Macdonald’s Gina, for the remaining seat opposite her in a crowded café. In their tentative first conversation he senses a bond of sorts – a woman similarly resorting to mostly internal communion with the rest of the world, and surprising himself, he ungracefully proposes a date, which she accepts.
The two share mostly uncomfortable moments together, Lawrence falling back on self-deprecation to limit the silences, Gina sharing virtually nothing in the way of personal details. But it’s apparent that they like one another despite the vast difference in age. Lawrence is reluctant to end the pleasurable rapport even for the duration of his work trip to Reykjavik for the G8 Summit and he asks Gina to join him.
Against the background of world leaders debating social and political reform, the pair continues their enigmatic relationship, Gina even instigating the crossing of physical boundaries, the platonic line of cautious contact that defines them when in a room together.
A key to the mysterious Gina is unlocked when she speaks publicly to the Chancellor about achieving certain social goals at the summit, a brazen ploy that leaves Lawrence mortified, placing his standing amongst his colleagues and employment in jeopardy. Despite assurances, Gina becomes more assertive again with her forthright but reasoned views, drawing the attention of spectators and the despairing ire of Lawrence, who seems incapable of admonishing her despite the possible consequences.
Written by Richard Curtis, best known for Four Weddings and a Funeral, Love Actually, and his brilliant television work over the years on The Vicar of Dibley, Mr. Bean and Blackadder, The Girl in the Café was directed by David Yates just before being lured away to helm Harry Potter’s fifth adventure and beyond.
It’s a beautifully crafted drama, intriguing in that nothing can be assumed about where this unusual relationship is heading. Humanistic and replete with moments of warm and disarming humour from Curtis, the film lingers upon and movingly rejoices in the inevitable foibles of any interaction between men and women, regardless of age difference.
At first, when Gina’s mild agenda begins to emerge, the mix of intimate drama and social conscience seems a bit awkward, but the strength of the performances overrides any doubt, and with Curtis plotting their course, we’re in good hands, leading to a satisfying, sombre conclusion.
Both Nighy and Macdonald give sensitive, engaging performances. They ensure a level of believability in these characters even if it seems preposterous that any real future beyond Reykjavik might be possible, a belief, like private clues, they both secretly hold within, similar to those attributes that somehow sustained their fateful first meeting, and everything else that followed.
A small gem of British filmmaking, The Girl in the Café resonates with simple but genuine emotion.
Lawrence is a middle-aged civil servant, an underling of the Chancellor of the Exchequer or Finance Minister (Ken Stott), but devoutly seeking solitude beyond his duties which he performs as if they are all that sustains his life. He’s a mass of hesitant tics and gestures regretted a moment later, devoid of social skills. A man physically contorted by inhibition, his awkwardness is somehow endearing and gently moving.
His life changes course when forced to ask a pretty woman, Macdonald’s Gina, for the remaining seat opposite her in a crowded café. In their tentative first conversation he senses a bond of sorts – a woman similarly resorting to mostly internal communion with the rest of the world, and surprising himself, he ungracefully proposes a date, which she accepts.
The two share mostly uncomfortable moments together, Lawrence falling back on self-deprecation to limit the silences, Gina sharing virtually nothing in the way of personal details. But it’s apparent that they like one another despite the vast difference in age. Lawrence is reluctant to end the pleasurable rapport even for the duration of his work trip to Reykjavik for the G8 Summit and he asks Gina to join him.
Against the background of world leaders debating social and political reform, the pair continues their enigmatic relationship, Gina even instigating the crossing of physical boundaries, the platonic line of cautious contact that defines them when in a room together.
A key to the mysterious Gina is unlocked when she speaks publicly to the Chancellor about achieving certain social goals at the summit, a brazen ploy that leaves Lawrence mortified, placing his standing amongst his colleagues and employment in jeopardy. Despite assurances, Gina becomes more assertive again with her forthright but reasoned views, drawing the attention of spectators and the despairing ire of Lawrence, who seems incapable of admonishing her despite the possible consequences.
Written by Richard Curtis, best known for Four Weddings and a Funeral, Love Actually, and his brilliant television work over the years on The Vicar of Dibley, Mr. Bean and Blackadder, The Girl in the Café was directed by David Yates just before being lured away to helm Harry Potter’s fifth adventure and beyond.
It’s a beautifully crafted drama, intriguing in that nothing can be assumed about where this unusual relationship is heading. Humanistic and replete with moments of warm and disarming humour from Curtis, the film lingers upon and movingly rejoices in the inevitable foibles of any interaction between men and women, regardless of age difference.
At first, when Gina’s mild agenda begins to emerge, the mix of intimate drama and social conscience seems a bit awkward, but the strength of the performances overrides any doubt, and with Curtis plotting their course, we’re in good hands, leading to a satisfying, sombre conclusion.
Both Nighy and Macdonald give sensitive, engaging performances. They ensure a level of believability in these characters even if it seems preposterous that any real future beyond Reykjavik might be possible, a belief, like private clues, they both secretly hold within, similar to those attributes that somehow sustained their fateful first meeting, and everything else that followed.
A small gem of British filmmaking, The Girl in the Café resonates with simple but genuine emotion.
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