The golden rule in cinema is 'Show, don't tell'. In films, images should tell the story, not dialogue. 'Aftersun' is a perfect example of how that's done. This film is good because of what we see, and what those images imply. The storyline itself is secondary.
In essence, 'Aftersun' consists of scenes during a summer holiday in a beach resort. Divorced father Calum has brought his eleven year old daughter Sophie, who lives with her mother. They're clearly having a good time swimming, relaxing, playing pool and participating in the occasional excursion. They're filming each other using a portable camera, and those images are part of what we see.
But underneath the joyful scenes of a happy child and a loving father, there is a sense of something more unpleasant going on. The more the film continues, the more the viewer gets the impression that something terrible can happen at any instant. We are used to films that spell things out pretty clearly. When we see a weapon, we know someone will get killed. When we see a boy and a girl smiling to each other, we know they will fall in love. It doesn't work that way in 'Aftersun'. I started to look for clues of a dramatic development, but it never came. The holiday comes to an end, and only the final scene suggests things that might have happened, and gives the film a different meaning.
'Aftersun' leaves much to the interpretation of the viewer. That can be frustrating or rewarding, depending on how you look at it. Director Charlotte Wells has taken the 'Show, don't tell'-strategy to its extreme: she tells us very little and shows us very much.
Apart from the deeper meaning that is hidden beneath the images of the happy holiday, the film is remarkable for its cinematographic approach. Images of holidays can be extremely boring, even more so when nothing spectacular happens, but in 'Aftersun' they have a wonderful, emotional quality. Also, the home movie footage is very cleverly used. In one scene, the images of the camcorder are displayed on the small television screen in the hotel room. When the camcorder is shut off, we see Sophie and her father reflected in the glass of te screen. In the last scene, the use of those different images is even more prominent.
Paul Mescal, who plays the father, is nominated for a 'best actor' Oscar. In a way, that doesn't really reflect what makes this film special. It's not only Mescal's acting, but rather the way in which ordinary, everyday events are made into a special story.
In essence, 'Aftersun' consists of scenes during a summer holiday in a beach resort. Divorced father Calum has brought his eleven year old daughter Sophie, who lives with her mother. They're clearly having a good time swimming, relaxing, playing pool and participating in the occasional excursion. They're filming each other using a portable camera, and those images are part of what we see.
But underneath the joyful scenes of a happy child and a loving father, there is a sense of something more unpleasant going on. The more the film continues, the more the viewer gets the impression that something terrible can happen at any instant. We are used to films that spell things out pretty clearly. When we see a weapon, we know someone will get killed. When we see a boy and a girl smiling to each other, we know they will fall in love. It doesn't work that way in 'Aftersun'. I started to look for clues of a dramatic development, but it never came. The holiday comes to an end, and only the final scene suggests things that might have happened, and gives the film a different meaning.
'Aftersun' leaves much to the interpretation of the viewer. That can be frustrating or rewarding, depending on how you look at it. Director Charlotte Wells has taken the 'Show, don't tell'-strategy to its extreme: she tells us very little and shows us very much.
Apart from the deeper meaning that is hidden beneath the images of the happy holiday, the film is remarkable for its cinematographic approach. Images of holidays can be extremely boring, even more so when nothing spectacular happens, but in 'Aftersun' they have a wonderful, emotional quality. Also, the home movie footage is very cleverly used. In one scene, the images of the camcorder are displayed on the small television screen in the hotel room. When the camcorder is shut off, we see Sophie and her father reflected in the glass of te screen. In the last scene, the use of those different images is even more prominent.
Paul Mescal, who plays the father, is nominated for a 'best actor' Oscar. In a way, that doesn't really reflect what makes this film special. It's not only Mescal's acting, but rather the way in which ordinary, everyday events are made into a special story.