Nostalgia on Film: A Review of Aftersun

Ariana Mah Editor in Chief

“It’s in the past for me. That’s all. And there’s this feeling once you leave where you’re from, where you grew up, like you don’t totally belong there again. Not really. But Edinburgh was never…I never felt like I really did belong there.”

“I do. It’s home.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. I’m glad you feel that way. You never know where you’ll end up though. You can live wherever you want to live. Be whoever you want to be. You have time.”

Charlotte Wells’ debut film, Aftersun, showcases the melancholy and fleeting nature of the relationship between 11-year-old Sophie and her father Calum.

Sophie, played by newcomer Frankie Corio, is inquisitive and precocious. She’s at an in-between age; old enough to be curious about boys and all the grown-up things that teenagers do, like drinking and making out, but too young to participate. And Calum, played by Paul Mescal, of Normal People fame, is weary and old beyond his years. He’s visibly young, about to turn 31 and mistaken at one point as Sophie’s brother, but there’s a tension to his frame that speaks of a rough life and haphazard decisions that have led him to his current position. He’s a cool father, the kind we all wish we had, and at one point, he tells Sophie that she can talk to him about anything, whether it be parties, boys, or drugs. Sophie’s embarassed, but Calum’s sincere, and he wants her to know it.

The film follows two timelines, one of the past, and another of the present day. The main timeline of the past follows Sophie and Calum, as they spend their days lounging on the beach, playing pool, and eating dinner together. The present timeline follows Sophie, now an adult with a partner and a baby, as she thinks back on their defining trip. There are also shots interspersed throughout, of different perspectives; their trip through the lens of Sophie’s camcorder, and flashing, high-contrast shots of an adult Sophie and Calum dancing in a club, juxtaposed as though they face each other in the same room. Through these scenes, it is implied that Calum is no longer in Sophie’s life when she has grown up, for whatever reason, though this is nev- er explicitly stated, nor expanded upon.

It’s clear from the beginning of the film that Sophie’s mother and Calum are no longer together, but have a functional co-parenting relationship that has enabled Sophie to go on vacation with her father. The amicability between her parents is a point of fascination for Sophie, who questions their habit of saying “love you” to one another. Calum simply replies, “Well, your mother is family.” And that’s that. This dialogue sums up the extent to Calum’s backstory, and Wells ensures that we receive little more than that. We know he was once married to Sophie’s mother, that they had Sophie, and that they’re no longer together. Even while relaxing by the beach, contemplating carpets he likely can’t afford, and sleeping on his stomach in their hotel room, Calum is ever plagued by his personal demons. We know he seems unsure of life outside of fatherhood; the mood shifts ever so slightly when Sophie asks him what he’s got planned for after their vacation, and none of the answers he gives are straightforward or concrete. This is in stark contrast to Sophie, who knows she’s going back to her mother, and starting a new school year, processes and events that she states as fact. This is what sets these characters apart, the childlike innocence and surety of a young girl, juxtaposed with the impulsive and questioning nature of a young man. Paradoxical, even, as one expects the adult to have life figured out, with the child turning to them for advice.

But beyond the sparse information and our inferences as to who Calum was and where he ends up, we know nothing else. Yet, this further adds to the world that Wells intends to construct, one of discoloured film and the fuzzy texture of a camcorder recording, complete with blurred edges and hazy spinning, utterly sensorial and entirely immersive. Within the theatre, the audience was sucked in. They were only deposited gently back into their seats as the final scene faded and the credits began to roll, still stunned from the amalgamation of strobing colours, and the near flashpoints of each moment, which never quite reach their boiling point.

Aftersun is a dizzying mirage of a film, one that broke my heart from its beginning, and took a piece of me at its finish. An eerie soundtrack accompanies a masterful performance by the cast, and rounds out each scene auditorily, allowing you to sink a little more into the magic of the film. Set against a backdrop of bright, sunny days by the water, and haunting, pitch-black nights by the ocean, the movie is made up of contrasts, from the nostalgia-coloured memories, now long gone, to the present day, more bleak than the kaleidoscope Sophie remembers from when she was young. The bright days represent their carefree time together, and the nights the years following that memorable vacation, the Calum that took to fatherhood as best he could, and the person he was when he wasn’t with Sophie. She’s mourning both the father she knew, and the man she didn’t, and she’s not quite sure which one is more real. She may never find out, in the end.