GFF: Limbo
Ben Sharrock's dry comedy follows a Syrian musician who flees his war-torn homeland to seek asylum on a remote Scottish island.
Limbo follows Omar, a Syrian musician who has fled his war-torn homeland with just his oud (a middle eastern guitar-like instrument) and the broken arm which prevents him from playing it. Omar’s family have separated due to the ongoing conflict in their country – his parents have made it to Turkey, where Omar’s father busks in the street to support him and his wife, while Omar’s brother has remained in Syria despite the increasingly dangerous situation. Given his ability to speak English, Omar has journeyed to the UK in search of a safer life and has been housed on a remote Scottish island. Omar, played by Amir El-Masry, lives in shared accommodation with three other adult males – Farhad, Wasef and Abedi – who are all living in limbo whilst they await the outcome of their application to seek asylum in the UK. They spend their time eating cereal, watching Friends, talking in outdated Western cultural references and attending a series of classes that are set up to help prepare them, and other asylum seekers, for life in their adopted homeland. Farhad (Vikash Bhai) is Omar’s self-appointed manager and agent, who thinks he is sitting on the guaranteed riches that will flow from Syria’s answer to Donny Osmond. The men have nothing to do except imagine their lives with UK citizenship. Farhad’s plan is clear; ‘I think when I get asylum, I would like to wear a suit and work in an office, drink black coffee in the morning and eat my eggs sunny side up. I think people like you if you wear a suit’.
Filmed in the Outer Hebrides, Limbo’s fictional island takes the form of a character in itself, with the sprawling, barren landscapes and isolated buildings emphasising the desolation that the men feel living in this suspended existence. The snail’s pace in which the narrative moves is a stylistic choice to reflect the monotonous time spent day in, day out, without a purpose, as Omar and Farhad’s status as asylum seekers means they are unable to work. Despite restricting the cinematic feel that could be achieved with picturesque shots of the wild, rugged highlands, director Ben Sharrock’s choice to present Limbo in 4:3 gives the film a 1980s public information film vibe, reinforcing the feeling that the remote island is still catching up with the glossy modern society that we know in 2021. While it may be a bit of a stretch, the static wide-angled establishing shots remind me of a Kubrick film, with the rigid one-point perspective framing of Omar’s environment reflecting the rigid nature of life on the island. Could Omar and the asylum seekers’ meetings at the island community centre be substituted with Alex and his Droogs in the Korova milkbar? Maybe with some ominous, droning synth sounds? Too far? Ok – I got ahead of myself.
‘When you introduce a new chicken to the group, there is lots of fighting and pecking. Some other chickens feel threatened or afraid. They attack the new chicken sometimes. Sometimes they even kill it’.
- Farhad
Omar and Farhad spend some quality time leaning on a fence and observing the behaviour of chickens on a nearby farm, with Farhad feeling a special affinity for the newest member of the flock, who he calls Freddie Jr. He observes the behaviour of the other chickens and their reaction to Freddie Jr. joining their community, which is a not-so-subtle metaphor for the plight of the asylum seekers themselves. Continuing the poultry theme, the men feel that they are playing chicken with their goal to seek asylum and that the government is testing their resolve and determination to start a new life in the UK: ‘they put us in these places so that we volunteer to go home’.
Despite the portrayal of the very real struggle that asylum seekers can face, Limbo is a deadpan comedy. The various ‘Culture Awareness 101’ sessions at the community centre – aimed at helping the men’s integration into Western society – are particular highlights. The first, which opens the film, has tutors Helga and Boris passionately dance to Hot Chocolate’s ‘It Started with a Kiss’ in front of a blackboard with ‘Sex: Is a smile an invitation?’ written in block capitals. The group of asylum seekers watch on, wondering whether this is really what they came to the UK for? It’s not quite John Travolta and Uma Thurman at the Jack Rabbit Slim’s dance contest, but it is funny. The surreal gags continue as Omar encounters some native teenagers who are driving an old car on the beach. After the teens confirm that Omar isn’t planning any ‘ISIS activity’ on the island, they openly discuss how rape is a hobby – ‘like tennis’ – for men who look like Omar. These initial pleasantries out the way, one of the teens asks to sign Omar’s broken arm cast. Dry humour crops up from unfamiliar sources, like the lack of options for purchasing affordable clothing on the island which results in Farhad wearing a hat knitted to look like a panda’s face and ears, or Omar wearing a neon blue jacket that I’m sure my gran used to have. Sanjeev Kohli (Still Game) even appears in a cameo as the shopkeeper of the local newsagents – I’m sure I have seen that somewhere before.
The journey of each asylum seeker ends differently as Limbo draws to a close. Omar’s cast is removed and he is finally able to play the oud again, just like he did to acclaim in Syria. Farhad, ever the opportunistic agent, organises a concert for the Syrian Donny Osmond at the local community centre. He arrives ready to showcase Omar to the island locals, and he has ticked off one of the items on his Western society to do list – he is wearing a suit.