“A MAN CALLED OVE” My rating: B
116 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13
Black comedy and heart-tugging sentiment are strange bedfellows. It’s the rare film (“Harold and Maude” and “Bad Santa” come to mind) that can stir them together without curdling the meal.
To that short list we can now add “A Man Called Ove,” writer/director Hannes Holm’s amusing and surprisingly moving adaptation of Fredrik Backman’s international best-seller.
Basically it’s a droll character study of an old grump who, in the wake of his beloved wife’s death, is bent on suicide.
But every time crusty Ove (Rolf Lassgard) is about to do the deed — his proposed methods range from noose to shotgun — he is interrupted by one of his neighbors with some sort of emergency that must be seen to. (A man can’t even kill himself in peace, goddammit.)
For though he is a royal pain who patrols his housing estate every morning, anally obsessed with violations of the community ordinances, Ove possesses skills that his hapless fellow humans lack.
He’s a handyman with a garage full of tools, a car mechanic capable of bringing the automotively deceased back to life. (A loyal Saab customer, he breaks with his oldest friend when the other fellow has the temerity to purchase a BMW.)
He’s a firm hand at the wheel, a big plus since he seems always to be taking someone to the hospital (though he does cover the car seats with newspapers, lest his riders befoul his precious upholstery).
Butler's Cinema Scene 