The first thing one might notice about writer/director Clio Barnard’s Ali & Ava is that all of its characters are complete originals. Perhaps the general trajectory of the story, which follows an unlikely couple through the first motions of romance, is a familiar one. The film, though, moves with the naturalistic unpredictability of real life, and that is largely due to the fact that neither Ali (Adeel Akhtar) nor Ava (Claire Rushbrook) fits into a comfortable stereotype found in other romantic dramas. Their personalities and motivations and histories and desires are the makeup of characters who always manage to keep each other and the audience on their toes. The key word in the opening sentence, though, is “all,” as even the supporting ensemble of (by default) slightly less defined characters is peppered with complexly drawn individuals.
The story of the film’s unique production might have something to do with that, as both Ali and Ava are based upon real people, each of whom was directly and intimately involved in the development process. Set in the northern England town of Bradford (near where Barnard herself grew up), this is a film that holds a distinctive and atmospheric sense of place – an undervalued consideration in the movies, so many of which seem to reside in an anonymous city or stretch of land that might as well be indistinguishable from others. Here, though, Ali and Ava come from Bradford neighborhoods as different as their backgrounds and upbringings, lending a genuine weight and an informed depth to their characters.
Ali is a Pakistani man, living under the tremendous pressure of having separated from his wife Runa (Ellora Torchia) for reasons that are easy to guess in the way Ali’s eyes fall a bit with the mention of children. Ava is a working-class British gal, a little older than Ali and working as a teaching assistant. She has four kids of her own – the eldest son, Callum (Shaun Thomas), even has a child himself – and a past haunted by abuse, death, unfulfilled dreams, and almost too many regrets to be inventoried. Barnard stages conversations between these two lovers-to-be that are honest, open, vulnerable, and truthful. Her soft gentleness disarms the more abrasive Ali. His sense of humor and the unique worldview that arises from it immediately attracts Ava.
Together, these characters are clearly meant for each other, which means, of course, that Barnard must introduce complications. For Ava, it appears in the form of Callum, who (in the film’s broadest moment of both humor and shock value) greets Ali with – if you can believe it – a sword. The young man still has a lot of complicated feelings about his dad, but of course, the real issue is something deeper and more troubling. Thomas’ performance allows some nuance within that underlying reason, though, since the film is smart enough not to make villains of anyone. The same can be said about Runa, played by Torchia with a sense of crushing emptiness in the wake of a tragedy, though the major conflict here involves Ali’s family, who are unaware of the separation.
These are manipulations aimed at us, of course, but the film affords so much detail and depth within these backstories that they barely register. Of course, the performances from Akhtar and Rushbrook, who are both great here, cut through a lot of what might have been mishandled in less capable hands than Barnard’s. Akhtar plays Ali as silently pained but resolutely cheerful about his new lot in life (including his position as potentially the nicest landlord of all time), while Rushbrook’s Ava is a woman reaching the middle of her life of drudgery, surprised and delighted by the idea of a man “fancying” her, as she so colorfully puts it. They make up the heart of Ali & Ava, a film that sets itself apart from and above what we usually get from a romantic drama.
Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment
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