Review by JayFantana.
Richard Ayoade’s directorial debut’s premise pretty much encapsulates every man that had to drag themselves through puberty. The outline is as simple as the 15 year old’s we once were’s agenda in life. Oliver Tate (Welcoming Craig Roberts to celluloid) wants to lose his virginity before his 16th birthday. He also wants to stop his mother from having a sexual encounter with Paddy Considine’s new age mystic and destroying his parents relationship, which admittedly may not be as relatable to the teenager inside you.
What is simple in story is certainly not true in tone. Submarine beautifully captures the heightened feelings we produce as youngsters. That moment you lock eyes with the girl in the playground and fall in love with her without either ever saying a word; the feeling you’re going to die because she wasn’t in school that day; and the ultimate thrill when, despite the whole world being against you, you finally get that first kiss with the girl you will defiantly spend the rest of your life with. The highly stylised camera work aligns with Oliver’s feelings as it floats through the scenery, tracking romantically past his love interest Jordana (Yasmin Paige), giving that visual sense of what my mother could only describe as ‘Oliver’s hormones whooshing around inside’. All highly dramatic. In fact I think Ayoade would have a hard time denying his love of French new wave and influence of Wes Anderson that didn’t so much creep into the film, but whimsically crashed the party and drunk all the Sauvignon Blanc.
You can see the Wes Anderson connection through every highly poetic scene, awash with melodrama, which is fitting really as the adaption is indeed written by the Welsh poet Joe Dunthorne. Sharp, quirky and always delivered deadly straight by the talented ensemble you can easily question whether the tear from your eye is of laughter or sympathy for the characters hardships.
As the film wrapped up it did not matter a jot whether Oliver got the girl, or whether his mother jumped into a van with the new age mystic. It was for me a perfect encapsulation of that time when every one of our senses was heightened a thousand times before we grow up, beautifully captured both visually and audibly. Something must have been done right if I’m contemplating comparing Ayoade’s Barry Island with Truffet’s Paris surely?
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