‘London’ Berlinale Review: Conversations on the Road

The premise is simple, and its repetition deceptively so. Bobby frequently drives back and forth between Vienna and Salzburg, turning those constant trips into shared rides. The film never quite explains the logistics, but what Bobby seems to be doing is some hybrid of business (he claims the money he charges covers his gas) and diversion: instead of traveling alone, getting bored or maybe nodding off on the road, he chooses to talk to strangers. That’s essentially what London is about—or at least the excuse the film gives itself to exist.

Directed by Sebastian Brameshuber, the film rarely leaves the car Bobby drives, except during the breaks between passengers or in a handful of moments that appear closer to the end. At heart, it’s what Americans would call a two-hander: a series of small scenes between two people, structured as shot and reverse shot between Bobby at the wheel and his occasional companion in the passenger seat. A few shots of the road at different times of day and across changing seasons complete the visual framework. Everything else happens inside: the conversations, the stories, the restrained emotions, the comic situations, the communication breakdowns and those fleeting moments from the lives of a driver and the people who ride with him.

Bobby has a painful reason for making the trip so often: an old friend suffered a stroke and is now in a coma, so he travels weekly to keep him company. It’s an anecdote he repeats more than once, gradually opening the door to reflections about his life, his past, his family and the choices he’s made. Running parallel to that are the stories of his passengers: immigrants, workers, students, people running from something or in need of help. If London has a weakness, it’s that not many of Bobby’s companions—aside from three or four—are particularly compelling. The center is always him, and even with his calm, affable demeanor, he clearly has a lot to say.

A clarification feels necessary here. I know Bobby Sommer personally fairly well for reasons that aren’t relevant to get into now, so the film ends up giving me the chance to see him, listen to him and spend some time in his company. The Bobby of the fiction is quite close to the real one—his actual job, beyond occasionally acting, is indeed related to driving—and it’s impossible for me to know to what extent the interest I find in watching and listening to him will translate to other viewers. My sense is that it will, since the same kind of quiet magnetism that Bobby Sommer (the actor, not the character) projects in real life comes across on screen, even if his character is more serious, darker and outwardly troubled than the man himself.

Beyond that—and despite the aforementioned weaknesses in some of his companions—London ultimately works as a reflection on the passage of time, on the choices we make, on the risks we take (or choose not to take), and on what commitment really means at a moment when everything feels slightly out of joint. Bobby treats his freedom as a kind of credo, a life choice that defines him and that he has sworn never to betray. But sometimes that freedom collides with responsibility and commitment. And there are moments when everything has to be laid out on the table and carefully reconsidered.