Tove is a biopic of the Finnish artist Tove Jansson who, most famously, created the Moomins, that gentle family of hippo-like trolls with the soft, velvety bellies which I remember reading about as a child when I was laid up with chicken pox. (The collector’s editions published by Sort of Books have restored the original artwork, are dazzling, and will take you right back, minus all that Calamine.)
Biopics of artists are often more miss than hit. I’m still recovering from that Jackson Pollock one where he completes his first action painting and is told: ‘You’ve done it, Jackson! You’ve cracked it wide open!’ But this avoids the usual pitfalls, as it is more about capturing her spirit rather than the creative process and it’s beautifully made, beautifully performed, and if you didn’t love Tove already you will now. She was always just so blazingly herself.
If you didn’t love Tove already, you will now. She was always just so blazingly herself
The film is directed by Zaida Bergroth, written by Eeva Putro, and stars Alma Poysti, who actually resembles Tove — the name is pronounced Tor-vey, by the way; it does not rhyme with ‘cove’ — and is mesmerising throughout. This isn’t a cradle-to-grave narrative. Instead, it focuses on her life from wartime through to the 1950s which, personally and professionally, paved the way for all that was to follow. Its opening prologue shows us Tove dancing, wildly. Not with anyone. Just by herself. She is vital, energetic, can abandon herself to the moment. We understand immediately: this woman is all life force. The dancing becomes the film’s leitmotif and you won’t tire of it, I promise.
She is, at this point, still living at home with her parents in Helsinki.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in