The Ballad of Wallis Island is an endearing comedy that steadily grows on you. Set entirely on a fictional, sparsely populated island off the coast of Wales, it has a gray, rainy setting that belies the warmth of its humor and gracious heart. Directed by James Griffiths and written by Tom Basden and Tim Key, who have worked together for decades and also play the two main characters, it is a remake/elaboration of The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island, a 26-minute short film they all made back in 2007 when Basden and Key were primarily known as sketch comedians and Griffiths was a novice director working in television. The basic storyline is the same—a famous folk musician is paid a large amount of money to play a private concert on the aforementioned island for what turns out to be only one person—but Basden and Key have added some substantial plot elements that turn a clever, amusing short film into a much weightier dramedy.

The musician, Herb McGwyer (Tom Basden), is world-weary and somewhat cynical, while his benefactor, Charles (Tim Key), is wide-eyed and convivial, if also somewhat awkward and unsure of himself as a stumbles through his many stream-of-consciousness monologues. Charles is extraordinarily rich—not because he is some kind of genius inventor or entrepreneur, but rather because he is exceptionally lucky, having won the lottery not once, but twice. As there is no hotel on the tiny island, Herb stays at Charles’s cluttered, homey mansion, which creates all manner of awkward comedy as Charles, by his own admission, rarely has guests and isn’t used to entertaining. The awkwardness gets much, much worse, though, with the arrival of Nell Mortimer (Carey Mulligan), Herb’s former musical and romantic partner who he had no idea was also invited to the island. He and Nell played together for years as a folk duo, McGwyer Mortimer, but their professional and interpersonal breakup was such that they haven’t seen each other or spoken for nine years. Unlike Herb, who has continued with a solo music career, Nell has retreated into private life in the U.S. and gotten married, which means that her gregarious, bird-watching husband, Michael (Akemnji Ndifornyen), is also along for the ride.

As Herb and Nell try to reconnect in order to play the concert together, old feelings start to resurface, some more than others, which creates many complications over a short period of time. You would imagine that the core of the story is in a rekindling romance between Herb and Nell, but that possibility is just a catalyst of sorts, as the film is really about Herb being confronted with his own shortcomings and frustrations in life and coming to grips with who he really is and what is truly import to him. Being with Nell again kickstarts that journey, but it truly begins and ends with Charles, the man who brings Herb and Nell together for reasons that appear at first to be largely selfish and myopic, but are later revealed to have a much deeper, more poignant motive that casts him in an entirely different light. While Charles is initially a kind of comic-fool figure, he turns out to be the film’s tragic heart and soul.

While it is well shot by cinematographer G. Magni Ágústsson and thoughtfully directed by Griffiths, the film’s real treasure lies in the performances, especially Tim Key, who plays Charles as a hopeless introvert who is constantly trying and failing to be a successful extrovert. Every word out of his mouth feels like it has escaped, and his pinched face and quick, square smile suggests he would like to reel back most of them back in. He cannot help himself, and the awkwardness just pours out, which is what makes him so utterly endearing. He never means anything but the best, which means that he is kind and therefore rare in this world, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t often make a mess of things. He is the very epitome of best intentions gone awry, and Key plays him with such perfect notes of comical grace that you just want to give him a big hug. That self-conscious softness plays just right against the prickliness that Tom Basden—who also wrote all the film’s songs—brings to Herb, a character who is at first jaded and cynical and tired and therefore in no place to appreciate Charles’s fundamental brightness. They are visual opposites: Charles, plump and fully bearded, is given to big sweaters and ill-fitting hats, while Herb, thin and stylish, leans toward skinny jeans and fitted shirts (which is why it is so funny that he has to spend so much of the film wearing Charles’s clothes while his own dry after falling in the ocean upon his arrival).

Of course, the film’s charm and pleasure lies in watching Herb’s cynical armor slowly crack and break away, which makes him vulnerable again and therefore at risk of feeling real pain. The genuineness of the emotions—both Charles’s clumsy desperation to make things right and Herb’s realization of all that he has closed off and the pain that comes with opening up—elevate the film above being just a charming comedy of manners. It is a humane comedy, a richly observed character study that plays into comic types while also revealing their souls.

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