LIMBO: FILM REVIEW
Ben Sharrock’s film Limbo gives a slice-of-life twist on tragedy. Taking after the iconic Roberto Benigni film, Life is Beautiful, Sharrock injects comedy and messages of love into what is a painful experience for the characters of the film.
Limbo follows Omar (Amir El-Masry), a Syrian refugee who has arrived on a fictional island outside of Scotland alongside other refugees, all awaiting a letter that would either grant them asylum or deportation. Instead of focusing on their escape from their home countries or their victorious arrival to a new country, the film exists in the quiet moments in-between, stepping into the dehumanizing waiting period that befalls refugees as they wait for months (and sometimes years!) for a decision that will decide their fate.
The comedic aspect of this film invokes Wes Anderson’s deadpan absurdist humor, such as when a moment of complete seriousness is interrupted by the sight of one of the characters wearing a knit panda hat that he got from the donation center. Importantly, the comedic moments do not exist solely for a laugh, but rather to slice through the tension that builds up throughout the film as the stakes rise. This reminds the viewer that the protagonists aren’t simply victims of their situation, but active participants in their own lives.
As we get to know the characters more, some of the more “comedic” aspects of the film are revealed to be a coping mechanism for the main characters, who have been waiting for a maddeningly slow system to help them. The more the facade breaks and they share some of their journey or a moment of brotherly love, the more heart-wrenching it becomes to see them fall back into the forced restraint and empty stares that define this movie.
Restraint is the driving force of this movie, and it is a shockingly effective plot device. The most critical moments in the plot include characters getting pushed to their limits until they break and reveal something new to the viewer. This is most evident in the first deportation scene of the movie, one that is terrifying and heartbreaking as it shows one of the characters you just began to love being loaded into a van. While the viewer notices the empty seat in the room, the characters continue behaving as though nothing has changed — they seem almost afraid to acknowledge the events. The change from this moment onwards is simultaneously so subtle and so jarring that one feels as though they are watching a different movie.
An interesting choice in this movie is the characterization of Omar as a successful oud player (a lute-like instrument) in Syria. He carries his oud around in its case even though he can’t play it due to a cast on his arm. The other characters tease him for not playing and encourage him to play again. For Omar, the oud is his only remaining tie to Syria and his family. He argues that it sounds different to play it on the island, disconnected from the people and settings that inspired him. The love that Omar feels towards his country and family is communicated through the oud, and the constant visual presence of the oud serves as a reminder that refugees don’t flee by choice, but because they no longer have the option to forge a future in their home countries.
Sharrock refuses to turn his film into the tired trope of refugee films that exploit the trauma of refugees to evoke sympathy from their audiences. Rather, he focuses on how their perseverance and ability to dream helped them to find community in a hostile environment. Limbo is a movie about finding beauty and humanity everywhere you look. The friendships forged between the refugees and with the Scottish townsfolk of the island, who grow to see them as more than refugees and potential threats, speak volumes about the strength in human connections that go beyond race, class, and background. Omar’s struggle and pain are explored as he learns to lean on those around him for support. Sharrock demonstrates that community is the key to survival — we just have to be open to receiving it.