‘The Ballad of Wallis Island’ Review: A Moving Tale About the Power of Music to Heal

At first glance, James Griffiths’s The Ballad of Wallis Island may look like just another overly precious, insufferably twee indie dramedy. Surely, its initial setup isn’t especially promising: A two-time lottery-winning millionaire, Charles (Tim Key), hires both musicians from his favorite, long-defunct folk duo, McGwyer Mortimer, to perform a private show for him on the remote Welsh island on which he lives. That the two crooners, Herb (Tom Basden) and Nell (Carey Mulligan), are former lovers who haven’t spoken for nearly a decade only adds to the potential for egregious heart-tugging and nostalgic reminiscences.

And yet, The Ballad of Wallis Island plays both its drama and comedy in decidedly minor keys, straining neither for grand emotional revelations nor big laughs. The film instead heavily relies on the delightfully idiosyncratic central performance by Tim Key—who co-wrote the film with co-star Tom Basden—to retain a carefully calibrated balance of sweetness and melancholy that never veers into cheap sentimentality. There’s a wounded quality to Charles, whose wife passed five years earlier, but he’s mostly just a slightly eccentric, lonely, and socially awkward man who’s a bit too excited to have his favorite musicians staying at his house for a few nights.

Charles’s over-eagerness, particularly when he’s around the moody, reserved Herb, results in some amusing odd-couple comedy, as the warmhearted fan loses all sense of boundaries as he tries to ensure his guests are comfortable and happy. And while his incessant prying into Herb’s personal life, especially regarding what led him to branch off into a solo career, occasionally makes him a bit of an aggravating figure, Charles is most often so pleasant, gracious, and well-meaning that it’s impossible not to root for the guy every step of the way.

Charles’s dad jokes are amusing, whether he’s calling Herb “Dame Judi Drenched” after he falls out of a boat upon his arrival on Wallis Island or quipping, when given a gift from Nell, “Houston, we have chutney, and it’s not a problem.” But these moments are funny precisely because they’re not carefully written puns, but rather the type of naturalistic, off-the-cuff remarks made by a man who’s anxiously compelled to fill in silences. Charles is insecure, and more than a bit nervous, to be hanging out with Herb and Nell, but as the film goes on, it becomes clearer that he’s keeping things chummy and light with his guests so as to stave off the sadness of seeing his favorite group without the love of his life by his side.

And this is where music, and its raw way of more than just healing the listener, comes more into play in the narrative. Where Charles’s love of McGwyer Mortimer is deeply connected to his love of his wife, his desire to see Herb and Nell sing together doesn’t consider the stinging pain and regret that plagues Herb when he’s forced to confront his past mistakes. For both men, the past was a happier time, but they continue to ascribe different meanings to the music they associate with that time. The fact that Tom Basden’s original songs are quite good only further aids The Ballad of Wallis Island in locating both the latent and immediate power of music, and the ways our emotional connection to it inevitably morphs over the years.

The Ballad of Wallis Island isn’t mold-shattering, but it finds something new in the familiar. Key, Basden, and Mulligan’s characterizations are vividly realized, while the film’s restraint ensures that what could easily have been contrived or cloying is instead measured and authentic. Despite its title, Griffiths’s film accepts that life is rarely like a song, and while it’s both moving and funny, it wisely resists the temptation to tie things up in a neat and tidy bow.