Ali & Ava

Ali and Ava first meet across a rain-soaked school play­ground. Ali (Adeel Akhtar) is Ava’s (Claire Rush­brook) knight in shin­ing armour (or worn track­suit and beanie), and he inno­cent­ly offers her a lift home. She ten­ta­tive­ly accepts. What unfolds isn’t quite Tris­tan and Isol­de, but a romance that is both sweet and refresh­ing­ly authentic.

Brad­ford is the back­drop as writer/​director Clio Barnard depicts a con­nec­tion that cross­es the bound­aries of class, cul­ture, and that great social divider – taste in music. Pow­ered by dance and elec­tron­ic music, for­mer- DJ-turned-land­lord Ali spends his days drop­ping off and pick­ing up the chil­dren of his ten­ants and pre­sum­ably col­lect­ing rents. Self described as ​‘over excit­ed’, his charm­ing for­ward­ness is in con­trast to Ava.

A class­room assis­tant of Irish her­itage, Ava enjoys old-school folk and coun­try music, its lilt­ing tones suit­ing her med­i­ta­tions and time spent wist­ful­ly watch­ing young cou­ples on the bus home. Despite their dif­fer­ences the spark is instant, and the easy chem­istry between Rush­brook and Akhtar does a great job of illus­trat­ing the very first wisps of attrac­tion – the ini­tial ​‘click­ing’ that’s not yet ruled roman­tic, but with an intrigu­ing grav­i­ta­tion that begs to be explored.

Both par­ties bring bag­gage to their union. Ali is sep­a­rat­ed from his wife Runa (played won­der­ful­ly by Ello­ra Torchia), but remains liv­ing with her as he fears the con­se­quences of telling his fam­i­ly the truth. Ava is a wid­owed moth­er and grand­moth­er who has suf­fered abuse in the past and is more assured in tend­ing to the desires of oth­ers instead of her own.

Yet Barnard uses the grad­ual fusion of their musi­cal tastes to illus­trate their jour­ney towards each oth­er both phys­i­cal­ly and emo­tion­al­ly. Cue scenes of the pair sprawled on Ava’s couch chant­i­ng ​‘New Era (Dawn­ing Of A)’ by The Spe­cials; Ali’s bound­less ener­gy giv­ing Ava the push she needs to let her­self go, while Ava’s warmth gifts Ali the affec­tion he’s been missing.

Rush­brook brings a vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty to Ava that feels incred­i­bly relat­able, while Akhtar gives a skil­ful por­trait of a man expe­ri­enc­ing both gid­dy joy and deep despair simul­ta­ne­ous­ly. Barnard deft­ly weaves the mes­sage of renew­al across Ali & Ava. Shots across the rooftops at dawn and at night as the city lights glis­ten in the dis­tance are preva­lent through­out the film, as well as Ali’s pen­chant for watch­ing the new moon.

Hav­ing very much lived lives before find­ing each oth­er, those expe­ri­ences adding a famil­iar weari­ness that bonds the lovers as much as it threat­ens to break them apart, faith, in sec­ond and even third chances, is crucial.

With Ali & Ava, Barnard tri­umphs in pre­sent­ing a romance tale that is deeply ground­ed, yet in its well-matched leads and heart­felt sto­ry, still pos­sess­es the mag­ic required to sweep the audi­ence off its feet.

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