‘The Ballad of Wallis Island’: A Lottery Winner Uses the Jackpot to Reunite His Fave Band

PARK CITY, Utah—The thing about film festivals is that there is so much unknown. Will this movie, which is being screened publicly for the first time, actually be good? If it’s good, will it get distribution? And if it manages that, will people, you know, actually go see it?

Gosh, I hope people turn up in theaters to see The Ballad of Wallis Island, when that release happens in March. It’s the rare festival discovery that I can tell has the potential for mainstream appeal.

It’s not the most erudite endorsement, but the whole time I was watching The Ballad of Wallis Island’s premiere at the Sundance Film Festival this weekend, I kept thinking to myself how much I was just plain enjoying it. And it was the communal experience of being in a crowd that seemed to really feel the same way—it was palpable—that made the film’s charms that much more infectious. It received the biggest standing ovation of the festival so far. (Forgive me, I forgot to pull out a stopwatch and time it, but the performative extended ovations like the ones that happen at Cannes and Venice’s festivals aren’t the Sundance vibe.)

The thing, however, with a movie like The Ballad of Wallis Island, is that I can easily see cynics rolling their eyes at it, lambasting it as twee, and, as their wont, being buzzkills—just as much I can see, as I did at Sundance, people smitten by its folksy spirit, clever wit, sumptuous scenery, heartfelt music, and relatable bittersweetness.

Maybe, then, it’s one of those “well, what mood were you in when you watched it?” movies. As I shivered my way into the film’s Sundance screening, it turns out that I was very much in a mood to feel the warmth of a screenplay that has so much compassion for the human need for connection, and how gratifying it can be when you give yourself over to vulnerability.

The film, directed by James Griffiths, was both written by and stars British comedy duo Tom Basden and Tim Key. Key plays Charles, a man living as remotely as just about any person can: on a sparsely inhabited (fictional) Welsh island only accessible by one ferryman’s tiny boat, which he operates on a strict schedule of “sometimes.”

Charles’ company comes from two sources. One is his sporadic visits to the island’s one shop where a woman (Fleabag’s Sian Clifford) he clearly fancies—but is too shy to pursue—works. The other is his complete record collection of the works of McGwyer Mortimer, the disbanded folk-rock duo he’s a longtime superfan of, which he pretty much is playing at all times.

It’s one half of that pair who we first meet in the film. Basden’s Herb McGwyer is aboard the precarious boat to Wallis Island in order to play what he thinks is some sort of private concert or party, which he’s being paid handsomely for. He’s confused and quite cranky, then, when he arrives and learns that the performance will be more private than he bargained for—as in, just for Charles, by himself.

It turns out Charles and his late wife, Marie, won the lottery…twice. He’s using the leftover money from the second jackpot to stage the reunion concert of his dreams, to take place on the anniversary of Marie’s death as she was, if anyone could believe, perhaps more of a McGwyer Mortimer fan than him.

There’s just the slightest bit of duplicity involved in the plan, as Herb has no idea that Charles also invited Nell Mortimer (Carey Mulligan), Herb’s former music partner and lover from whom he’s been estranged for nearly a decade. Charles’ hope is that the music will help everyone reconnect, regardless of past ill feelings or the awkwardness of this stranded-on-an-island setup. The reality, of course, becomes so much more complicated.

The difficulty, yet emotional power, of achieving perfect harmony is an obvious throughline of Wallis Island, as Herb and Nell struggle to recapture the beauty of the music they used to make together. Finding that harmony is also the challenge and the triumph of the film itself.

There’s a certain whimsy to the set up of it all. The lonely lottery winner/superfan conceit could so quickly become creepy, yet Key’s performance roots Charles with so much purity and bumbling excitement that he skirts any stalker-ish traps.

It could also veer dangerously close towards eye-rollingly saccharine and silly. Charles is such an endearing, yet such an unusual character: obsessive and enthusiastic, but broken and insecure. His inability to silence his ticker tape of corny jokes and observations could be insufferable, which would ruin the movie. Or it could be exceedingly adorable, which would be patronizing to the character, the audience, and the profundity of the relationships that build throughout the film.

Charles and Herb’s instant Odd Couple relationship has a nice balance of sitcom chuckles and a real curiosity of two people trying to understand each other. And it was wise to add shades of sweetness to any animosity Herb and Nell could understandably have against each other. If their dynamic was purely toxic, the film would be wholly unpleasant to watch. But Basden and Mulligan telegraph their characters’ shared history almost instantaneously, both the immense love and the lingering resentment.

There’s just a real coziness to it all that, it turns out, I craved. Comparisons will rightfully be made to the work of John Carney the filmmaker behind sentimental musicals like Once, Sing Street, and Begin Again—and they are apt. That’s also a good barometer for anyone curious whether they’ll also be as taken by this bizarrely titled film—can’t say I’m as in love with the title as am the movie—as I was.