Charlotte Wells’ debut feature is a bittersweet rendering of a childhood memory, with painstakingly authentic performances from Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio.
★★★★✰
It’s in a Turkish hotel room that we first meet Sophie and Calum. They’re being shot through the lens of Sophie’s camcorder, the fuzzy haze of it only emphasised by the continued contrast of their shadows against the sunshine. Sophie (newcomer Frankie Corio) tells the camera that she’s just turned 11, as she tries to interview her father (Normal People‘s Paul Mescal) about what he thought he would be become when he was her age. She is all smiles and the natural awkwardness that comes with being a pre-teen. There is delight and joy as she poses the question to her Dad. However, Calum hesitates; he is clearly uncomfortable. He tells Sophie to shut off the camera. And so establishes our story.
The film that follows shows the rest of the holiday Sophie shared with her young father. It’s a ‘Brits abroad’ all-inclusive trip: there’s cringe-inducing evening entertainment; kids become friends simply because they speak the same language; there’s always a pint on the go. It’s not an eventful holiday, by any means, but it clearly holds a great weight for both father and daughter. We see the holiday through Sophie’s eyes: a combination of clips from her camcorder, memories held tight, and occasionally rendered imaginations to try and understand how her father experienced the same trip so differently.
It’s this attempt at understanding and connection that is central to the film. The father-daughter relationship, which seems so close and yet so strained, is the true story that Wells wants to tell. And this she does so with expertise, largely due to the stunning central performances. Paul Mescal’s performance in Normal People was revered particularly for its portrayal of men’s mental illness. Here, Mescal taps into that vulnerability again in such a subtle, authentic way. It’s all in the details: awkward body language, the deep breaths that you have to pay attention to notice, the uncomfortable look in his eyes at the smallest of things. While Sophie sees her Dad as the gentle, loving, fun father she adores, we as the audience can see that Calum is always on edge; he has to work hard to retain that image he wants his daughter to hold of him. When we eventually see him break down it’s shocking, but the film has been building to this moment from the start.
However, as beautifully nuanced as Mescal’s performance is, it is matched by the brilliance of newcomer Frankie Corio. Despite her youth, Corio’s portrayal of Sophie is deftly mature, and incredibly restrained for such a young actress. There is energy, of course, but much like Mescal, the brilliance of her acting is seen best in the moments of quiet. As she tucks her hair behind her ears in a coy way, as she sneaks glances at the older kids she wants to be like, as she smiles at her Dad with such warmth and trust. Once the performances are paired together, the chemistry between them is utterly heart-warming, and it makes you feel the despair of adult Sophie (Celia Rowlson Hall) that much more acutely. There is a tenderness, and deeply felt love, but the film is also incredible in the way that it highlights the distance between them.
In being a film focused on the quiet, unspoken moments, it often forces you to sit in the silences, both the comfortable and uncomfortable ones. As such, the film can feel very slow, and doesn’t always keep audience attention. The fact that it’s understated is key to its appeal, but it’s also the film’s downfall. It’s so understated that at times it just feels like nothing is happening at all. The relational journey between our leads is deeply compelling, but it requires emotional energy from the viewer that paired with the pacing, can feel all-too draining.
That being said, whilst a slow watch, it is a visually beautiful one. Shot on 35mm film, there is a nostalgic haze on every frame that wouldn’t be achieved on digital. This is only heightened by the interruption at times by way of clips shot on Sophie’s camcorder, further compounding the film’s theme of memory. The film’s holiday setting casts a sun-kissed glow throughout: shots of shining blue pools, and warm colour palettes immerse the audience and firmly place them in this hotel alongside the characters.
The true beauty of Aftersun, with all of this, is the way it makes you feel, and the way those feelings stick with you once you’ve left Sophie and Calum behind. It’s the tenderness of each moment shared between father and daughter, from open conversations, to embarrassing dancing. It’s the desperation you feel for Calum to be okay, even though you know he isn’t. It’s the feeling of seeing a child begin to grow up, and remembering those foundational moments in your own life. It’s the prompting to reflect on your own relationships with your parents, and the reminder that as a child there is just so much we don’t know. This film makes you feel so much, even though it actually tells very little. It is this that makes it worth watching, and this that makes it such as powerful feat of storytelling.
The Verdict
It’s a film that requires a lot of patience and emotional energy, but the feelings in invokes both warm your heart and break it. Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio ground the whole film, with revelatory performances that will, and should, be talked about for a long time. A strong debut from writer-director Charlotte Wells.
Words by Rehana Nurmahi