Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Justin Anderson
Starring: Ariane Labed, Christopher Abbott, Mackenzie Davis, Nadine Labacki, Freya Hannan-Mills
Writer/director Justin Anderson's feature debut, Swimming Home, may be an adaptation of Deborah Levy's well-received 2011
novel, but it's yet another entry in the increasingly crowded field
of Boudo Saved from Drowning/Teorema-influenced dramas in which a wealthy family is disrupted by the arrival
of an enigmatic stranger (see also Saltburn, The Origin of Evil, Family Therapy, Brief History of a Family et al).
The Renoir influence is clear from the opening, in which a naked woman
(Ariane Labed) is found floating in the pool of a Greek villa
rented by acclaimed poet Joe (Christopher Abbott, testing the
limits of how long he can carry on his trademark sad sack shtick), his war
correspondent wife Isabel (Mackenzie Davis), their 15-year-old
daughter Nina (Freya Hannan-Mills) and their friend Laura (Nadine Labaki).
The nude bather reveals herself to be Kitti, a friend of Vito (Anastasios Alexandropoulos), the young man assigned to take care of the villa guests' needs during
their stay. In what seems like a desperate rebellion against any bourgeois
perceptions this free-spirited European might have of her, Isabel invites
the interloper to stay with her family, and Kitti is only too happy to
accept. None too happy with this intrusion is Joe, who has a history of
infidelity and fears he won't be able to resist Kitti's charms.
A glance at the synopsis of Levy's novel suggests Anderson has departed
considerably from the source novel. Levy's Kitti is a devoted fan of Joe's
writing, whereas Anderson's version has a far more ambiguous relationship
to Joe. Anderson has reconfigured Joe as a survivor of the Balkan
conflict, and it's suggested that Kitti's knowledge of his traumatic
childhood may not have simply been gleaned from reading his words. She
seems to have intimate awareness of an incident in which Joe was left in
the woods by his parents. Joe is immensely troubled by Kitti's presence,
but unable to express his reasons why, Isabel assumes it's simply because
he fully expects to sleep with her and she seems compelled to punish her
husband by dangling such tempting fruit under his nose.
Anderson's writing makes his characters' actions difficult to accept.
Kitti is clearly unstable, and her attention towards Nina is downright
creepy, sleeping with the girl in her arms and taking her to a gay beach
to observe a crowd of naked male bathers. Isabel might be desperate to
seem hip and bohemian, but are we really to believe a mother would allow
her underage daughter to fall under such an influence?
Anderson's background in commercials and music videos is all too clear.
He seems far more interested in crafting a striking image than in
developing believable characters. A recurring motif sees Isabel attending
what appears to be a cross between a sex club and a performance art space,
where semi-nude dancers prance around in an erotic ballet while a clearly
uncomfortable Isabel looks on. It reinforces the idea that Isabel might be
trying to shake off her stuffy American background, even if it makes her
uncomfortable, but it grows repetitive by the third time we're forced to
sit through it.
A survivor of conflict marrying a war correspondent should
make for an interesting dynamic, but Joe's background is treated in glib
fashion, and the movie has nothing to say about the real life conflict it
cheaply appropriates. What makes this worse is the inclusion of Labaki,
who having grown up in war-torn Lebanon, literally experienced Joe's
fictional childhood for real. There was clearly something in the script
that attracted Labaki, but it doesn't seem to have made it to the screen.
Aside from Labed, who is exactly the combination of sexy and scary
required of her character, the cast seem lost here, trashing about in
waters as they wait for their director to throw them a buoy. One hopes
Anderson might mature with further features, but his debut fails to make a
splash.
Swimming Home is in UK/ROI
cinemas from April 25th.
