A parent-child relationship can be a source of heartbreak. This is a fundamental attachment that leads to an inevitable double grief. Children grow up and run away from the nest. parents die. It’s the natural order of things, and it’s tragic even if premature tragedy doesn’t step in and amplify the pain.
Such tragedy overshadows 35-year-old Scottish director Charlotte Wells’ tender and devastating first film, Aftersun, but the power of the film lies in the fundamental and universal nature of loss. It comes from accepting facts. Snorkeling tours in resort towns on the Turkish coast, hotel buffets and lazy hours by the pool are almost happy experiences that end in tears… your tears.
Eleven-year-old Sophie (Frankie Corio) and her father Callum (Paul Mescal), too caught up in the joys and frustration of the present to express her sadness and anxiety, but she also seems to be aware that time is passing by rapidly. Hanging in the times and at the same time rushing towards maturity. Her eyes are constantly moving, scanning her surroundings for clues and omens.
The young man himself — who is about to turn 31 and is mistaken for Sophie’s older brother by fellow tourists — Callum has some wear on his lithe body. ing. We don’t know much about his history — Wells isn’t the sort of director who marries sensitive scenes with expository dialogue — but we do know that he and Sophie’s mother aren’t together. You can also guess some hard knocks and bad decisions in the past.
Maybe even in his future. One thing we do know about Callum, though it’s hard to say exactly how this knowledge came about, is that he dies after the holidays. The presence and absence of smartphones makes travel a thing of the past. Sophie (Celia Rawlson-Hall), now 31 and an adult with a partner and baby, remembers sunny mornings and nights of karaoke (she sang). “losing my religion”) 20 years ago.
It is not correct to say that “Aftersun” is primarily a flashback scene. It also feels wrong to describe a grown-up Sophie’s harrowing visions of her father dancing in a strobe-lit nightclub—a scene that occasionally interrupts a Turkish idyll—as a dream. Wells works in a more intuitive and oblique psychological register, her flow of images attuned to the fluidity of Sophie’s consciousness, her narrative instincts driven by emotional rather than plot mechanisms. Follow logic. The boundaries between memory and experience are not so blurred that they render meaningless. And by the end of the movie, you’ll understand why.
“Aftersun” follows Sophie and Callum’s day-to-day tourist activities as clearly and literally as possible, without dramatic embellishment. There are moments that carry a hint of danger or unhandled discomfort. For example, a misconception about a lost diving mask: Sophie sometimes tags along with a group of her teens in the UK, eavesdropping on their naughty jokes, and unnerving cautious parents. Observe their horse play with enthusiasm. (She also flirts with a boy her age who is also a fan of motorcycle racing arcade games.) When Calum orders a third beer at dinner, she frowns and says he’s taking care of her daughter. You may wonder if you are mature enough to Own.
Later in the film, Callum’s recklessness and Sophie’s curiosity open the door to some terrifying possibilities. Nor is it a punitive allegory of That structure manifests itself through patterns of perception and mood. At times, Sophie and Callum fight, get on each other’s nerves, and lose contact. Sometimes it’s boring, sometimes it’s silly, and sometimes it’s a relaxed, almost wordless rapport.
Capturing the thick and complex reality of their connection, documenting its rapid microscopic movements and tracking its slow tectonic movements, is Welles’ great achievement. And mezcal and colio. They are so natural, so light, weighty and special that they don’t look like they are acting at all.
It is difficult to find critical words to describe the subtlety and intimacy of this film. It seeks to unlock the often dormant potential of media to reveal the world that becomes. She and her cinematographer Gregory Oke prefer compositions that evoke the jerky asymmetry of her amateur videos. (Wells also incorporates video camera footage captured from Sophie and Callum’s point of view.) This is an image of Callum weaving fabric as fine and cohesive as a carpet he buys on impulse. I’m not saying there’s any bullshit in there. I can not afford to.
The rug was purchased during one of the rare moments Sophie and Callum weren’t together. Or rather, part of the story she lived, written by her and her father together.
after sun
R-rated. There were bad words and tough situations, but nothing that a sensitive young man couldn’t handle. Running time: 1 hour 36 minutes. at the theater.