A Review of Aftersun
While most of its audience will likely be lured to the cinema by the prospect of seeing Paul Mescal’s butt, Aftersun (Charlotte Wells, 2022) has much more to offer than just its exquisite cast. The Scottish director’s debut feature is a sun-drenched coming-of-age story, as well as an intimate exploration of fatherhood and depression.
The eleven-year-old Sophie (Frankie Corio), and her father, Calum (Paul Mescal), spend the summer together on the Turkish coast. Both are in an awkward phase of life. Sophie, at that uncertain age between kid and teen. While Calum, who often gets mistaken for an older brother, is struggling to accept his role as a young dad. While their pleasantly slow days are filled with fun activities, Calum’s hurt hovers over them like a dark cloud, ready to break. Rewatching old videotapes, a grown-up Sophie reconstructs the vacation—trying to understand the complex feelings hidden in plain sight.
Though the film is incredibly well shot, with its grainy camcorder footage and innovative cinematography, this attention to aesthetics is rarely overpowering. Instead, it’s the characters, flawlessly written and executed, that dominate. Their interactions are tender and telling. From the incessant application of sunscreen to warnings about the dangers of smoking, Calum wants to take care of Sophie. He’s trying to be a good father, unlike his own. But, while smoking sneaky cigarettes and getting sunburned, he forgets to take care of himself.
Despite its leisurely pace and dolce far niente atmosphere, there are no dull moments. Flashes of potential calamity interrupt the summery calm, planting the idea that a storm is coming. When Calum dives to retrieve Sophie’s swimming goggles the scene cuts to the water’s surface—no one in frame. Now he will drown, you might think. But Calum always resurfaces. The audience is encouraged to be naïve, to ignore the foreshadowing of tragedy. Just like Sophie is told not to linger on her dark thoughts. “We’re here to have a good time, aye,” her dad pleads, noticeably distressed.
The soundtrack, brimming with 90s nostalgia, fits perfectly with the tacky resort. Meanwhile, the lyrics narrate all that is left unsaid. Songs like R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” which Sophie performs during karaoke, perfectly convey those feelings that are too difficult to describe. As Calum and Sophie take to the floor on their final evening “Under Pressure” is playing. Mercury sings, “This is our last dance, this is ourselves.” And even if you’re not listening to the lyrics, you know—you know the weather will turn.
