Manager: Andrew Haigh
Artists: Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Claire Foy, Jamie Bell
Year: 2023
Premiere: February 23, 2024
★★★
In the arc of Andrew Haigh’s career, there is a persistent thread: he is drawn to characters who wrestle with how they see themselves, especially when sexual identity clashes with social expectations. This film marks a shift from pure naturalism to something more spectral, a pulse between realism and the unseen. The result feels like a ghost story that still breathes with the texture of everyday life, giving Haigh a chance to test the boundaries between what is felt and what is shown on screen.
The narrative follows a screenwriter who returns to a childhood home after a provocative encounter with a mysterious neighbor, an event that unsettles his present and stirs memories of the past. The relatives who remain in the house are not simply figures from memory; they appear in a state that mirrors their former selves at the moment the protagonist died decades earlier. As the screenplay unfolds, the protagonist begins a private healing process by engaging in conversations he never had with his parents. The dialogue, precise in its social and psychological observations, delves into evolving cultural attitudes, while threading through essential themes about gay men and the impact of AIDS on communities. These conversations anchor the story, giving it intellectual weight even as the mood grows more intimate and emotionally charged.
Early on, the filmmaker allows the presence of the unknown to drift through the setting—poetic, enigmatic, and quietly beckoning. Yet the storytelling gradually tightens, channeling the protagonist’s trauma into the rooms of the house and the spaces between memory and reality. The claustrophobic world becomes a mirror for inner wounds, and the film’s atmosphere shifts from gentle ambiguity to a palpable emotional resonance. This transition deepens the experience without resorting to melodrama, instead offering a restrained, introspective emotional arc that invites audiences to linger on each moment. The result is a portrait of grief and longing that feels tangible, even as it borders on the uncanny. The cinematic journey suggests that healing can emerge from honest, hard conversations and from embracing parts of the past that still shape the present.
Despite its haunting mood and moments of devastating intensity, the film maintains a steady, human center. The narrative never loses sight of character—for whom the home becomes both sanctuary and site of reckoning. The exploration of relationships, identity, and memory is rendered with a clarity that makes the emotional stakes feel intimate and real. While the unfolding scenes carry a therapeutic aura, they also acknowledge the messy, non-linear nature of recovery, where progress is often interlaced with pain and unresolved questions. The storytelling remains patient, letting silence and breath become as expressive as dialogue, and it refuses to rush toward a neat, conventional resolution. In this way, the film rewards attentive viewing with a nuanced meditation on connection, loss, and the enduring presence of the past in the present life of the protagonist.
The viewing experience is enhanced by performances that carry quiet intensity. The cast navigates the delicate balance between vulnerability and restraint, delivering moments of humane truth that resonate beyond the specifics of the plot. The character-driven approach invites audiences to reflect on how identities evolve in the face of external pressures, and how shared histories can be a path to understanding rather than a weapon of division. Throughout, the film remains anchored in real emotional texture, offering a thoughtful examination of what it means to grow, to forgive, and to accept parts of oneself that have long resisted exposure. The result is a contemplative work that rewards slow, attentive engagement and leaves a lingering sense of resonance long after the final scene fades.