Mark Reviews Movies: LIMBO (2021)

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Review by Mark Dujsik | April 29, 2021

Omar (Amir El-Masry), the central character of Limbo, doesn't know what will happen to him. He currently—and for the foreseeable future—is stranded on a remote island in Scotland, with a group of other asylum seekers. They primarily come from countries in Africa or the Middle East, such as Omar's native Syria, torn asunder by war or crushing ordinary people under the cruelty of an authoritarian government. There was uncertainty in those places, whether one would live or die each and every day, and the notion of going to a country like Germany or a world capital like Omar's planned destination of London was for some semblance of certainty.

Each of these men has a dream. One wants to play soccer professionally. One just wants to live truly as himself—a way denied to him by the fundamentalist laws of his homeland. Most of them, though, just want to be free of that insecurity—to work, to live, and to merely exist without the constant fear from which they have escaped.

The terrible irony, of course, is that all of these men have discovered a different type of uncertainty. While they wait for word about their asylum requests, Omar and his fellow refugees can only linger on this island—where a single payphone booth offers the sole means of communicating with the world beyond its shores, where taking a job is basically a guaranteed way to be arrested and deported, where the locals look at them with either suspicion or sympathy that borders on patronization.

They wait and wait and wait, for months and even years without any sign of the status of their asylum requests, and the worst of it is that all this waiting, boredom, and anxiety might not amount to anything. A knock at the door of the shared house where Omar and his friends wait away the days could be cops, ready to send them back to places where that never-forgotten uncertainty awaits them.

If this sounds bleak, it undoubtedly is, but writer/director Ben Sharrock's film doesn't feel as helpless and hopeless as its premise actually is. The filmmaker never loses sight of how lonely and desperate the situation is for these characters, but he also acknowledges and embraces the inherent absurdity of it all. That tone gives the film both a biting comedic edge and, in an indirect but obvious way, a pretty pointed statement about how the asylum systems of the United Kingdom and places beyond fail the people they are meant to help.

Omar has traveled to the UK after conflict in Syria escalated, just looking to start his life somewhere with some stability. His parents fled to Turkey, where they struggle to pay the rent on an apartment, and his elder brother remained in Syria, believing that he could fight for his and the Syrian people's freedom.

The younger brother isn't a fighter. He's a musician, carrying his oud (a lute-like instrument), passed down to Omar from his grandfather, with him for this dream of a new life. He hasn't been able to play it, on account of a broken hand that's still in a cast (The island's doctor only shows up once a month—weather permitting), but even with that obstacle out of the way, there's something deeper keeping him from playing his music.

We also meet Farhad (Vikash Bhai), a refugee from Afghanistan, who's a fan of fellow Zoroastrian Freddie Mercury and volunteers to become Omar's manager/agent. Farhad has been on this island for almost three years, and brothers Wasef (Ola Orebiyi), the aspiring soccer player, and Abedi (Kwabena Ansah)—both of whom come from Africa, although the circumstances of where they come from and how they got here are an important revelation later—put the group's sequestration in politically pragmatic terms. Refugees have a "sell-by date," based on the situation within their home countries. It lines up with military conflict, from either internal or outside forces, and considering what's happening in Syria, Omar's date may have passed.

Despite the higher stakes and deeper implications of this story, Sharrock's approach to these characters and this tale is relaxed, humorous, and, save for trying to communicate the endless tedium of a life lived in such isolation, formless. There's no plot of which to speak, because the point is watching how these characters connect, how they deal with the non-stop boredom, and how they try to hold on to some sense of hope, even as there appears to be no end to their waiting in sight. Sharrock films most of this in static shots within a boxy aspect ratio, suggesting confinement and a limited view of the larger world (When snow arrives, even that narrow view becomes drearier and more difficult to see), until the finale, when at least one mental prison has been broken.

We learn about these men through these connections and dreams. While most of this is a comedy (founded upon little schemes, such as Farhad making a pet out of a stolen rooster, and small moments of discord, such as a debate about a popular sitcom from the 1990s, or unity, such as a scene of the group observing the oddity of the local postman's methods), the film becomes a very human story about holding on to the past, longing for the future, and feeling stuck in the present and in a sense of purposelessness.

That humanity, as well as the overt absurdity of the situation and the prejudices of some of the locals (A few of them try to be helpful, in ways that are either condescending or not much help), is Sharrock's message here. In Limbo, that message is plainly but clearly spoken.

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