Amongst all the moral murkiness and twisty noir pastiche, there’s a sly pleasure in seeing a German film, set in Spain, so incisively skewering the lives and lifestyles of Brits abroad. Our global reputation truly precedes us. Jan-Ole Gerster’s terrific sun-baked and sensuous mystery, plays at EIFF this week, before a general release in September, and will be streaming on BFI Player in late October. It is well worth seeking out.
‘Islands’ drops us into the life of Tom (Sam Riley), a former tennis pro, now a burnt out borderline alcoholic, providing tennis lessons at an all-inclusive resort on Fuerteventura. He splits his time between the practice courts and the sweat-soaked hedonistic clubs on the island, getting coked up and shagging tourists. His never ending summer begins to fracture when he’s drawn into the orbit of a middle class English family whose seemingly benign surface conceals undercurrents of desire and menace.
Anne (Stacy Martin) and her husband Dave (Jack Farthing) want private tennis lessons for their son Anton. They don’t seem to fit in at the resort. A bit too posh for a package holiday, so after some gentle cajoling, Tom agrees to spend a day with them and show them round the real parts of the island. Dinner and drinks follow, and then an invite back to their room, where things take an unsettling turn and the evening spirals into an episode of holidays from hell.
Gerster’s film takes pleasure in slow-burn reveals and clever misdirection. It trades in psychosexual games and macho posturing, but keeps twisting and morphing into something you never quite expect. Lensed by Juan C. Sarmiento Grisales, the film is visually arresting, wringing every ounce of drama from the volcanic setting—sun-baked cliffs, rippling sands, and crashing waves. The symbolism may be on the nose, but it’s undeniably gorgeous.
The three leads are excellent. Stacy Martin in particular delivers a cool and slippery performance, impossible to pin down, while Riley’s weary and subtle transformation is the film’s beating heart. Farthing brings a different energy, all surface bravado, but the eyes tell a different story. It’s a note perfect depiction of this particular kind of bloke. The film falters slightly towards the end, when there is perhaps one too many endings, but the lingering sense of unease and sadness will stay with you long after the credits roll.
