Food And Romance

The first thing one notices about Food And Romance is how the baby boomer generation is reshaping perspectives on ageing. A few years ago, films about women discovering themselves after years of marriage and experiencing late life romance had heroines in their forties. Here, Karin (Marie Richardson) has a daughter who is about to turn 40. She and her friends are dealing with care provision for their peers, the death of parents and the weight of relationships which have defined so much of their lives that it’s difficult to imagine anything else. Past the point of panicking about changes in their appearance, they’re contending with the fact that they likely to have only a decade or two of active life left. If it is truly going to be lived, that has to happen now.

First seen preparing food for a garden party in celebration of her ruby wedding anniversary, Karin has become so comfortably set in her ways that she doesn’t realise how unfulfilled she is. She has become accustomed to putting such thoughts out of mind. When she abruptly discovers that her husband Sten (Björn Kjellman) has been cheating on her – a discovery followed by an accident which puts him conveniently out of mind for a while – everything changes. She is unsettled, uncertain what to do with herself. Trying to cheer her up, her friend Monika (Carina M Johansson) takes her out to dinner, and it’s there that they find out about a cookery course which tickles their fancy. Together with another friend, Pia (Sussie Ericsson), who insists she’s only doing it under protest, they decide to sign up. It’s a decision which will transform Karin’s life.

This set-up may be a little clumsy, but lively ensemble performances and magnificent production design give the film has a lived-in feeling, a depth and richness which make its excesses much easier to accept. It also dazzles the eyes with a sumptuous array of dishes which provide ample distraction – do not go to see it hungry. Karin, we soon learn, has a natural flair for cooking and once considered making a career out of it, only to abandon her ambitions due to an early pregnancy. As the chef, Henrik (Peter Stormare) praises her work, she begins to regain her old confidence. Could it be that it’s not too late?

Karin is not, initially, impressed by Henrik, complaining that he’s rude and unhelpful. She has plainly not met many chefs. This tension between them, however, quickly spills over into something else. He too is dissatisfied with his life, unable to feel fully at home anywhere – but he’s old enough and wise enough to back off when she explains that she’s married and they can’t let it go any further. She and Sten are trying to patch things up; Sten is now more dependent on her than ever. Is everybody here too polite and respectful and civilised to pursue their passions, or might fate give them another chance?

There’s a complicated map of secrets and dependencies underlying this film, complicated by concerns about social obligation and, on Karin and Sten’s part, ongoing efforts to please and support their daughter, Frederika (Ida Engvoll), who is having a crisis of her own about turning 40 whilst unmarried and disinclined to have children. To pursue what really matters to her, Karin will have to lose her fear of letting others down – which might actually do them some good too.

There are farcical elements here, as in many a romcom, but they’re sparingly used and overall the film takes a mature approach to its subject matter. Director Annika Appelin doesn’t fall into the trap of trying to make her characters look younger, instead flattering the faces they have, finding handsomeness and layers of personality in the shadows and lines on Karin’s face. As such, it’s not a film about regrets or about imitation of youth, but about embracing the opportunities of later life and finally learning to live in the moment.