Directed by Ian Power. Starring Jamie Kearns, Kerry Condon, Demián Bichir, Donncha Crowley, Mark Doherty, Pat Laffan, John Carpenter PG cert, gen release, 92 min
This beautifully filmed Irish yarn is a corny but touching fable about rural kindness, writes DONALD CLARKE
JUST LOOK AT PJ Dillon’s gorgeous twilit photography in this charming debut feature from Ian Power. Are the 1980s now so impossibly distant that we remember the era in a heightened version of sepia? So it seems.
The Runwayleans towards a class of rural whimsy – crafty locals hatch wacky schemes – that has long fuelled Irish cinema. There's something of Eat the Peachin its relaxed, rolling rhythms. But the overriding influence here is early Spielberg. Power has set out to graft exotic spores of ETand The Goonieson to a rustic strain of home-grown comedy.
It doesn’t always work. The characters’ motivations are a tad muddy. The period detail comes and goes. But to come so close is no small achievement.
Making reference to an incident that occurred in Mallow, Co Cork, during the early 1980s, The Runwayconcerns itself with Paco (Jamie Kearns), a plucky kid living in a rural part of Cork. His mother (Kerry Condon) works long hours, and his father, said to reside "in Spain", has long ago fled the coop. Saddled with few entertainment options, Paco spends his days inventing excitements with best pal (John Carpenter), a Traveller.
Life changes when an exotic voyager crashes in nearby countryside. Ernesto (Demián Bichir), a Colombian pilot, is not technically from another planet, but, in the Ireland of 1983, one met almost as many South Americans as Venusians. For reasons that are never wholly explained, the plucky townsfolk set out to build the stranded aviator a runway.
Featuring solid acting from Kearns and Bichir, the film does a good job of fleshing out the budding relationship between Paco and Ernesto. Power is half in love with the lost era, but also seems aware that, as in Spielberg's suburbs, boredom was a perennial problem for rural kids alive during the reign of Adam Ant. (The film's signature tune – a gift from the generous band? – remains U2's early, reassuringly uncomplicated The Electric Co.)
Problems arise among the accompanying subplots and diversions. Allusions to Bichir's adventures at home are infuriatingly muddled. The decision to subtitle the Traveller characters is certain to raise a few hackles. But The Runwayremains a touching tribute to a vanished epoch that – until last Wednesday or so – still seemed within touching distance. A strong debut.
