It Takes a Village

The Economics of Happiness

I’ve long held that the best comedies aren’t really about being funny. They’re about being trapped. Think of the classics—the Ealing comedies or the frenetic screwball classics where someone’s inheritance or social standing hangs by a thread. That’s exactly where we find Halina, the protagonist of Łukasz Kośmicki’s latest, *It Takes a Village*. When financial ruin threatens her wedding, she doesn’t despair; she pivots. And the pivot, as it turns out, is where the movie finds its heartbeat.

Kośmicki is a filmmaker who knows how to wring intimacy out of a crowded frame. He’s not interested in the grand, sweeping vistas of the Polish countryside, though they’re present; he’s interested in the way people crowd around a kitchen table, shoulders hunched, debating the price of salvation.



The premise—a local community trying to manufacture a tourist trap to solve a wedding debt—is admittedly slight. We’ve seen the "village pulls together" trope enough times to know the beats by heart. Yet, Kośmicki elevates it by refusing to treat the villagers as caricatures. He lets them be petty, selfish, and desperate. Take the performance of Anna Seniuk. She’s a titan of Polish cinema, and watching her here is a lesson in economy. She plays Halina not with the broad strokes of a sitcom lead, but with a specific, tight-lipped vigilance. Watch her hands during the meeting in the town hall; she’s constantly smoothing her apron, her fingers betraying a nervous energy that her face is desperately trying to hide.

It reminded me a bit of what *The Guardian’s* Leslie Felperin once wrote about the tendency of local comedies to “trade in a kind of gentle, pastoral irony that often disguises a much sharper anxiety about the future.” That rings true here. The humor doesn't come from the outlandish plan itself; it comes from the crushing realization that these people have run out of other options.



There’s a scene about midway through that I suspect I’ll be chewing on for a while. The townspeople are rehearsing their "authentic" local dance for the expected tourists. It’s supposed to be a gag, something clumsy and awkward. But Kośmicki keeps the camera tight on Artur Barciś. He isn't dancing for the tourists; he’s dancing for his neighbors, trying to reclaim a dignity that the economic reality of the film has stripped away. The comedy evaporates, replaced by something far more fragile and real. It’s a bold choice, and I’m not entirely sure every viewer will appreciate the tonal whiplash, but it’s what gives the film its marrow.

The supporting cast, particularly Filip Gurłacz, fills the edges with a modern, frantic energy that contrasts beautifully with the older generation’s stubborn pace. If there’s a flaw, it’s that the film occasionally leans too hard into the "wacky schemes" segment of the screenplay. Those moments feel like they belong to a different, less interesting movie—one that prioritizes plot mechanics over the quiet, desperate humanity of the characters. When the film stops trying to be clever and just lets these people sit in their living rooms, drinking coffee and worrying about the mortgage, it sings.



By the time the credits roll, *It Takes a Village* hasn't reinvented the wheel. It hasn't set out to change how we watch movies or how we define comedy. It’s a modest, observational piece that understands something fundamental: we are all just trying to fix the things we’ve broken, usually by borrowing help from the people we happen to live next to. It’s not profound, maybe, but it’s honest. And in this current climate, where movies often try to shout to be heard, I found myself grateful for something that was willing to whisper.