[Inserts joke about how I’ll need more than aftersun to treat the open wound that Charlotte Wells’ masterpiece left me with]
I promise I will try not to spoil ‘Aftersun’ in this article as personally I feel that going in completely blind is the best way to relish this film in all its glory. So go get off that sofa, pop into your local cinema, watch Paul Mescal be the absolute star that he is and then come back and read this. Oh, and just a tip: maybe take some tissues. Put it this way: if the absolute god of cinema criticism Mark Kermode himself reviewed it with five stars, then you know you need the excuse for a cinema trip.
While listening to one of my favourite podcasts, ‘Films to be Buried With’, I was thinking how if I were ever to receive the honour of being interviewed by my idol Brett Goldstein I know that ‘Aftersun’ would deserve a mention as a film that profoundly affected me and arrived into my life at a vital time. In fact, I would argue the timing in your life when watching this film is key to getting the most out of it. In an act of ‘self-care’, despite the pile of uni work that haunts me like a bad spirit, I took myself off to The Light and watched it whilst in a slump. I was slowly emerging out of a depressive episode feeling the groundhog in February who would decide whether the rest of my year will be more manic or slightly more optimistic. Halfway through the viewing I pondered whether there should be trigger warnings for young women everywhere for depictions of emotionally-distant male figures. As I sat uneasy and anxiously on the edge of my seat, waiting for tragedy to occur, I instantly recognised the anguish and silent suffering that Callum (portrayed by the pop-culture icon Normal People’s Paul Mescal) wallows in as I reflected on the men within my life and the ones that have come and gone. This silent suffering externally expressed as emotional disconnect, which too often ends in tragedy (as Movember alerts us to: each year around thirteen men take their life every day) is perfectly captured in the lyrics of Sam Fender’s 2019 hit single, ‘Dead Boys’: “We close our eyes, learn our pain. Nobody ever could explain all the dead boys in our hometown”.
Charlotte Wells’ cinematic debut is truly inspiring in not only drawing us in to some of the mysteries behind Callum’s all-too-familiar story of male repression as we gain brief snapshots into his life outside the vacuum of the family holiday, but also refreshingly putting under the spotlight how male repression shapes their daughters. It is unique seeing the father-daughter relationship examined under the confines of a family holiday: too often on screen we see women scared to turn out like their neurotic mothers or men terrified of their abusive fathers, but we rarely witness this. As a grown (well, growing) woman, this film hurt. Through Frankie Corio’s mature demeanour in her breakthrough and astounding performance, we gain glimpses of the caring role that the young child has taken on to support her own young father. It hurts deep within seeing memories of a family holiday which at points feels like something every audience member can relate to. Of course, my own my father isn’t Callum, yet I think everyone to some extent will see a reflection of their own fathers, or father figures: the disconnect, but willingness to provide for you and do their upmost when all you need, no crave, is emotional honesty, moments of pure vulnerability. In contrast to the typical ‘macho’, toxic ideals of masculinity which have plagued typecasting for multiple male actors, Mescal has been refreshingly cast as a young sensitive man held back by these ideals. In one hauntingly beautiful and intimate scene of pure and utter emotional breakdown, we intrude on the raw sobbing that only hits when waves of depression overwhelm and drag us down.
That scene will haunt me: if you know, you know. “I can’t see myself at forty to be honest. Surprised I made it to thirty”. As Kermode himself has stated, there are no accidents in Wells’ process and subtlety and mystery are key to what makes this film a visual masterpiece. Every shot is ‘precise’, carefully and lovingly selected and crafted. The interjections of the 1990s family holiday narrative with flashing lights lets us gain an insight into the fractured relationship between the adult Sophie and Callum without ever revealing the cause. If you want a film with answers, then this is not the one for you. Like the video camera, it is a glimpse into a life, with no insight into the before, or even the after, mere subtle clues delicately left behind by Wells which we can piece together if we so wish. I truly believe that’s what works so beautifully: it was a film where my persistent curiosity was outweighed by the belief that we don’t need to know what happens to Callum. Quite honestly, the subtle exposition through the frequent stills and sounds of water referencing drowning is enough for me – as someone who has struggled with mental health for a long time – to know where his story tragically most likely ended up. The image of father and daughter dancing together in a brief moment of freedom and pure bliss to Queen’s ‘Under Pressure’ (a very on the nose choice from Wells) reduced me to tears. A moment of complete catharsis for myself as I wept, no sobbed, reduced to a small child who just wanted a hug. It’s scary when you suddenly become your own protector, and clearly this role was thrust upon Callum at such a young age.
‘Aftersun’ was not a comfortable watch for me. Each song used served as a constant reminder of childhood and poor Sophie trying to connect with the ashamed Callum through Karaoke to REM’s ‘Losing my Religion’ made me just want hug my own father, brother, and every close male figure in my life, whilst simultaneously wishing to berate each and every one of them. Why can’t you all just bloody talk? I know why, I just hate it. These men were continuously told throughout their lives by their own fathers that they couldn’t express themselves emotionally. They weren’t allowed to be weak or vulnerable for a second. We feel so disconnected and disjointed as we try and connect with the brick wall who desperately wants to protect us and love us, doomed to make the same mistakes as his father before him.
The stylistic combination of physical theatre and naturalism creates a dreamlike nature for the film. Although the memories of a possibly final family holiday are recorded through a camcorder which should be an objective narrator, there is an element of uncertainty, unease and general discomfort that haunts the film. I really was sat at the edge of my seat throughout the showing anxiously waiting for a tragedy to occur. That’s what I think is perfect about ‘Aftersun’ – a tragedy must have taken place outside of the vacuum of the holiday, but we will never know what and are left to speculate in that unease. Perhaps Callum did take his own life, hinted at through his obsession with recording and helping his daughter to remember. Or perhaps his state of denial and proud silence became unbearable for the daughter as she matured and craved a deeper, authentic connection with the male figures in her life living in this state of perpetual pressure, confined by the demands of masculinity bestowed upon them by their fathers.
What I adored about ‘Aftersun’, and Mescal’s portrayal, was the realistic subtleties and fluctuations in depression that often perplex those around us as we are internally screaming out for help, to save us from drowning and yet all we can present is a wonky smile as the eyes slightly betray us. The absolute love he has for his daughter alongside the deep and utter hatred he holds for himself sabotages and hurts everyone around him. The manic episodes, the highs, and lows. Men and women overall are depicted discussing, expressing and showing mental health in completely opposite ways. Whilst this holds an element of truth, Mescal’s performance can be appreciated by all genders alike as the struggles of mental health are so truthfully portrayed and realised. For me, although having joked about it with friends, I am now at the point where I genuinely might be the Callum instead of the wise Sophie. It’s not that I can’t connect, it’s that I won’t. I despise vulnerability despite craving it and this is sadly becoming the norm for young people everywhere.
In my opinion, ‘Aftersun’ is quite frankly one of the best films of the year.
Written by: Amelia Craik
Edited by: Joanne Spence-Thomas