Aftersun leaves a mark

Charlotte Wells creates a masterpiece on her 'first try', packing an impactful punch of mesmerizing agony and palpable delight

I feel like I should start this by saying that I watch films for many reasons, but mostly, they’re like a major source of self-care for me. A psychological cuddle blanket I wrap tightly around my (often) wounded soul, to gain inspiration, to recharge, to keep my own show going.

If you still haven’t seen Charlotte Wells’ melancholic masterpiece, Aftersun, I strongly suggest you do two things: 1. See it, as soon as humanly possible and 2. Come back, if you wish, to read the remainder of what I am about to say here to see if our Aftersun aftermath journeys are alike. Also, stop reading for the onslaught of spoilers that I absolutely must share in order to process my own feelings here.

To summarize the plot, though, the story and the overall experience goes lightyears beyond what actually ‘happens’ in the film, we meet and follow 11-year-old Sophie and her father, Calum, on a vacation in a roughish-looking Turkish seaside resort in the 1990s. A tender relationship between a girl experiencing early adolescence and the rollercoaster of feelings it brings and a young father whose heartbreaking struggle with what seems as a deep, deep depression is a canvas onto which Wells has painted a spellbinding creation that will stamp into your psyche and stay firmly put.

Frankie Corio and Paul Mescal as Sophie and Calum in Charlotte Wells’ Aftersun Photo: IMDB

I went into this experience knowing that I would be massively moved but did not expect this level of lasting core-shaking, to be honest. Seldom does one experience this level of intoxicating soul-touching ambiance as Wells’ autobiographical, writing/directorial debut (yes, I know, this is astonishing to say the least!) cemented by the outstanding performances by Frankie Corio, (her first time on screen, playing Sophie) and the miraculous Paul Mescal.

For the most part, watching the film feels as if you’d stolen (or somehow, come into possession) of an 11-year-old girls diary, ripped open that pretend-lock and immersed yourself into the ocean of unadulterated innocence and palpable pain. The pain, of course, catches up with Sophie later in life, as we find out early in the film but only fully comprehend at the very end.

I confess, I am finding it very difficult to not see Connell Waldron every time I see Paul Mescal, in anything. He will always be Connell to me first and I that is just a fact and I can’t help, nor do I particularly want to. When we meet his Calum in this film, there are slight glimpses of Connell at first maybe but oh – oh is this a different, shattered, barely-holding-on-by-a-thread version of him.

Your heart will begin aching for this man from the opening sequence and that ache will not subside until days after the last roll of the closing credits. I am not here to make this easier on you, this is simply a hard fact.

Wells fills each shot with perfectly positioned subtext (Calum attempts to fight his searing depression with practicing Tai Chi), where layer upon layer of meaning and revelation are painted on in the mise-en-scene, positioning of characters (there is a sense of purposeful physical separation that is thrust upon us at times) and of course, that mind-screwing camerawork when ‘taped’ moments feel like strong violators of their intimacy, yet we feel privy to it on some desperate level of wanting to third-wheel on what we sadly anticipate will be the final time Calum and Sophie spent time together.

You’ll be left with quite the list of questions, and like me, you’ll realize that the answers will likely never come. Nor should they. The true brilliance of this unusual, powerful and poetic piece of cinema is that it packs an emotional punch so strong and relatable, leaving the audience questioning their own journey just as much as it does the characters’.