There are no two ways about it: describing Dough as a feel-good movie carries with it inherent criticism. John Goldschmidt’s movie is certainly capable enough and enjoyable, but the script by Jez Freedman and Jonathan Benson goes out of its way to craft a story that combines three different iterations of proven feel-good narratives. Given the limitations of the movie’s runtime, however, that means that certain subplots come out of it underdeveloped, even seemingly unnecessary.
On the face of it, Dough is primarily about religious acceptance and openness. The central relationship is that of Nat Dayan (Jonathan Pryce), a kosher baker, and Ayyash (Jerome Holder), a Muslim refugee from Darfur. Neither of Nat’s sons expresses interest in carrying on the family business. Admittedly, the bakery is struggling, thanks to a neighboring, characterless supermarket run by the thinly-drawn greedy villain of the picture, Cotton (Philip Davis). At a loss for staff but resilient in the face of more profitable competition, Nat is forced to look for a new apprentice. The least offensive option is Ayyash, the cleaning woman’s son.
This premise is simple enough and has plenty in the way of messages. There are the obvious xenophobic clashes between a Jew and a Muslim, as well as between immigrant populations new and old. Within Nat’s family, the concept of tradition becomes the focal point for conflict. Gentrification, corporate takeover and the decline of family-owned businesses round out the central themes. That is, until Ayyash begins his much more profitable work of hawking marijuana for the drug dealer Victor (Ian Hart). You see, Ayyash finds himself in the bakery one day having to quickly hide his product. When he chooses to dump it into the bread mixer and that week’s challot sell like hotcakes, the future of Dayan & Son looks much brighter.
This plot point not only allows the movie to delve into the desperate realities of refugee and immigrant experiences (however briefly) but also kickstarts the main plot proper. But the combination of pat subject matter, the sheer predictability of these subplots and the glossed-over sensation created by such a packed script makes Dough seem too eager to say everything at once. And it doesn’t help that the movie’s inspiration seems to be the overdone image of old biddies full of pot-laced baked goods cackling over a game of bridge. It wouldn’t be surprising if this story of blatant stereotypes wasn’t written by simply working backwards from that specific joke.
Pryce expertly portrays Nat’s regimental life of routine and tradition, but Holder’s charisma is what saves the movie from inanity. There is validity to each of the script’s subplots, but Ayyash’s experiences with the drug underground and his stagnating friends are some of the truest in Dough, even if they are somewhat watered down from the reality. Goldschmidt aims for melodrama, humor and an ultimate heartfelt message of acceptance, but everything comes together a little too neatly, with the ending an obvious foregone conclusion before the movie even really starts.