"That's not a dog. It looks like a winter boot with eyes." Ove (Rolf Lassgard)
The titular curmudgeon (Rolf Lassgard) of A Man Called Ove, a film adapted from the Swedish best-selling Frederick Backman novel, can put down a dog and a human with equal verbal vinegar while hiding an unusually big heart. Yes, I know, the gruff-exterior and warm-interior motif, practically a staple of black comedies, is operative here but with an understated whimsy so as to make it fresh.
With an eye on the Swedish penchant for order and its legendary liberality, this amusing and tender tragicomedy tells of a 59-year-old loner, who six months ago lost his luminous and loving wife, Sonja(Ida Engvoll), receding deeper into his already considerable introversion. Yet, writer- director Hans Homme carefully crafts a recognizable stock grump (think Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt and Bill Murray in St. Vincent), who becomes as close as he is able to his opposite, the dynamic and loving Iranian, Parvenah (Bahar Pars), and youths, and seniors who are recipients of his begrudgingly good deeds.
It would be understating the complexity of this obsessive compulsive, "nit-picking obstructionist" to say he is simply converted into a good guy because to the end he remains grumpy, although he is readier than ever to dole out his reluctant charity. His eccentricity is nowhere more evidenced than in his dedication to his Saab and disdain for Volvos and their owners.
Per usual, though, that disdain for his Volvo-owning friend, Rune (Borje Lundberg), transforms into a caring companion in Rune's later, debilitating years. His care for local youths and their bicycles and love challenges is typically deep while appearing hostile. The film uses flashbacks throughout to highlight Ove's romanticism that hides as an adult in an old man's grouch.
His OCD personality defends even the most benign condo-living rules: "The dog must stop peeing at our place." Ove is an eccentric whom you will love by the end of the film. After all, you just need to put an "L" on his last name.
The titular curmudgeon (Rolf Lassgard) of A Man Called Ove, a film adapted from the Swedish best-selling Frederick Backman novel, can put down a dog and a human with equal verbal vinegar while hiding an unusually big heart. Yes, I know, the gruff-exterior and warm-interior motif, practically a staple of black comedies, is operative here but with an understated whimsy so as to make it fresh.
With an eye on the Swedish penchant for order and its legendary liberality, this amusing and tender tragicomedy tells of a 59-year-old loner, who six months ago lost his luminous and loving wife, Sonja(Ida Engvoll), receding deeper into his already considerable introversion. Yet, writer- director Hans Homme carefully crafts a recognizable stock grump (think Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt and Bill Murray in St. Vincent), who becomes as close as he is able to his opposite, the dynamic and loving Iranian, Parvenah (Bahar Pars), and youths, and seniors who are recipients of his begrudgingly good deeds.
It would be understating the complexity of this obsessive compulsive, "nit-picking obstructionist" to say he is simply converted into a good guy because to the end he remains grumpy, although he is readier than ever to dole out his reluctant charity. His eccentricity is nowhere more evidenced than in his dedication to his Saab and disdain for Volvos and their owners.
Per usual, though, that disdain for his Volvo-owning friend, Rune (Borje Lundberg), transforms into a caring companion in Rune's later, debilitating years. His care for local youths and their bicycles and love challenges is typically deep while appearing hostile. The film uses flashbacks throughout to highlight Ove's romanticism that hides as an adult in an old man's grouch.
His OCD personality defends even the most benign condo-living rules: "The dog must stop peeing at our place." Ove is an eccentric whom you will love by the end of the film. After all, you just need to put an "L" on his last name.