‘Touch’ (2024) Review – A Tale Of Lost Love That Is As Beautiful As It Is Bleak

If the name Baltasar Kormákur means anything to you, it’s probably because you have a distinct passion for films about recovering amidst disaster. The Icelandic director’s films have taken place just about everywhere you’d rather not be, from a boat drifting into the eye of a hurricane to a rocky ascent en route to Mount Everest’s summit. With these sorts of features in mind, the last project you’d expect him to direct, let alone co-write, is a decades-spanning romance that ventures from Reykjavik to London to Hiroshima, charting the love story of Kristofer (played in present day by Egill Olafsson, and in the 1960s by Palmi Kormakur, the director’s son) and Miko (Koki). It’s gentle, tear-jerking, and features no on-screen deaths, with none of the lost lives mentioned in passing having come on an African safari at the hands (er, paws) of a bloodthirsty lion. 

In other words, it’s an apparent departure from what Kormákur knows and directs best, yet it’s the rare sort of swing that sees a director uncover a welcome set of skills that may have been apparent in snippets before, and take complete command for the first time. Kormákur is no stranger to romance – it’s what made the events of his shipwreck thriller Adrift that much more compelling – but to have it be the driving force in a feature is something new for him. That it’s rendered with such aplomb in Touch, a film that is both beautiful and bleak in its core nature, is as exciting as it is refreshing, a sign perhaps not of more to come, but of what the filmmaker behind it is capable of doing should he choose to more often in the future.

On its face, Touch is a tale of star-crossed lovers, Kristofer and Miko, who meet when Kristofer, frustrated with his studies and extracurriculars, leaves school to work as a dishwasher in a Japanese restaurant. It’s there that he finds solace, forging a strong bond with its owner, Takahashi-san (Masahiro Motoki); Kristofer comes in early and leaves late in an effort to learn how to cook proper Japanese meals, earning the name Kristofer-san, and thus the respect of Takahashi-san. Miko becomes intrigued, and over time, she and Kristofer fall for one another. Their romance is passionate yet fleeting, as one day, Miko disappears without saying goodbye. 

This brings us to the film’s other timeline, the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, where the older Kristofer learns that he has dementia, and decides to take advantage of his last few good months for Miko. He’s retired and living alone, having lost his wife years prior to the film’s events. He travels across and around the world in hopes of finding the woman he once loved, wanting to know what led her to leave, to dot his undotted i’s and cross his uncrossed t’s before it’s too late. 

It’s a premise that, without care, could meander into the territory of a schlocky, sappy melodrama about an elderly gentleman hoping to make up for lost time. And at times, Touch shows signs of veering off its methodically-plotted road towards becoming a film littered with those lesser, formulaic tropes. But Kormákur and Ólafur Jóhann Ólafsson – who wrote the novel from which the film is adapted and co-wrote its script – are sure to prioritize pace over placing an emphasis on their plot’s maudlin makeup. Of course, their film is about a young romance, one that isn’t so much forbidden as it is kept secret, thus leading to a number of longing looks and comments that Kristofer and Miko can only share behind closed doors. 

But the inevitably of their affair isn’t rushed. Oftentimes, films of this sort tend to force the connection between two lovers almost immediately, as though letting their mutual attraction simmer would be a disservice to the audience. The opposite is actually the case: Imagine, if you will, that The Office forced Jim and Pam together in the series’ pilot. Would your intrigue and/or desire have remained as strong as it did watching them flirt and form a connection over the course of three seasons, leading to their relationship finally coming to fruition halfway through the show’s run? 

Now, it goes without saying that Touch is not a network sitcom, so its beats are far more nuanced than a show starring Steve Carell would be capable of achieving. But that its characters don’t immediately come together, despite their obvious infatuation with one another, allows the tension between the two to grow naturally. When the release finally comes for both – pause – it’s that much more satisfying as a viewer – PAUSE – as you’ve been anticipating this culmination for well over an hour. 

That the film makes it evident through events unfolding in both timelines that Kristofer and Miko have some sort of complicated past is a credit to Kormákur and Ólafsson, who make the direction of their plot clear yet still allows room for questioning. It’s apparent from the jump that Kristofer’s journey to find Miko will end in one way or another: She’ll either be dead, or they’ll reunite. Without spoiling the outcome here, let’s just say that Touch’s conclusion is satisfying without being too on the nose or overly-crushing. 

There’s enough of that to go around here already, from the knowledge Kristofer has about the direction of his own life and health, as well as the sights of him venturing through empty streets and hotels; the world around him is preparing to shut down for everyone’s safety, yet he can’t bare to waste the little time he has left. In that vein, Touch is as much of a reminder that it’s worth taking life by the horns, especially if you know you’re bound to be bucked off its back in a matter of time, as it is a beautifully-singular, organic love story that isn’t quite the type that ends with a long embrace nor a kiss set to the songs of Peter Gabriel. It’s more authentic than that. It’s Kormákur’s unique acknowledgement that life’s waters are always bound to be rocky, yet not every relationship we form must end in calamity.

Touch is currently playing in select theaters and is available on VOD courtesy of Focus Features.