Age has always been a fascinating theme when it comes to art, with the dynamic between those of different generations being the source of many interesting stories, several of them being quite touching. The problem with these stories is that not only do they sometimes veer towards controversy (especially when some of them dare to look at the idea of an intergenerational romance), they can often be dreadfully predictable. The most common remedy when a film runs into such a problem is the use of stories that may not be wholly original, but certainly have enough heart to fool us into becoming enamoured with the characters and the situations that they find themselves in over the course of the narrative. This is a good way to approach Juniper, the feature-length directorial debut of actor Matthew J. Saville, who tells the story of a young wayward teenager with self-destructive tendencies being forced to become the temporary caretaker of his crotchety grandmother as she recovers from a recent injury through consuming copious amounts of alcohol, which only puts a further strain on her relationship with everyone around. This odd couple scenario inevitably leads to a very touching story, whereby the pair go from feelings of deep resentment for one another (or rather, what they represent) to finding common ground, which only allows them to grow closer together. Far from a revelatory film, as well as not being free of slight shortcomings (which indicate how this was a work made by a relative novice), Juniper is nonetheless a very touching film, the kind of small, well-constructed drama that may not shatter boundaries, but offers a decent amount of emotional complexity, and even a few jokes to soften the very melancholy themes that dare to prod and provoke at some of life’s more intimidating questions.

Playing like a slightly more dour version of Harold and Maude (particularly in its construction of the story around the budding companionship between a suicidal young man and an older woman who genuinely believes that she still has a lot of life to live, Juniper is a charming film about intimate human connections. There is very little about this film that we can’t immediately recognize, since it follows a very familiar pattern of presenting us with two wildly different individuals who are forced into close proximity, and find themselves working through the very clear and palpable tension in order to maintain peace, and in the process realizing that they are far more similar than they appeared at first. Undeniably, the director is taking a few narrative liberties here – the first act of Juniper is quite rushed, with far too much exposition being found throughout the film, in an effort to explain the history of this family and situate us in the present moment, explaining why they hold so much hostility for one another. This is rarely a good approach, but it’s one that Saville manages to move past very fast, with his ability to distract from the clear attempts to contextualize decades of emotional turmoil into a few lines of dialogue being quite admirable, and shows the beginnings of what will hopefully be a fruitful career behind the camera for the director, especially since the actual content of the film supersedes some slight problems with its structure. There’s a very unique quality that underpins the film and makes it almost ethereal, whether it be in the gorgeous New Zealand landscapes (which the director captures beautifully), or in the characterization of the people who occupy these roles, which contrasts very well with the deeply sentimental storyline that touches on a few harsh but important truths about life and its aftermath.

At the heart of Juniper are two incredible performances. The first is George Ferrier, the young and promising New Zealand actor who plays the part of Samuel, a teenager who is suffering from a deep existential depression, which is only exacerbated by his neglectful father (played in a small but memorable part by veteran character actor Martin Csokas), who is constantly finding excuses to not be present of his son, placing him in boarding school and, after he is suspended from his education after a few troubling activities, abandoning him in their familial farmhouse to take care of the boy’s ailing grandmother, who wants to be there just as much as the young man. It’s a simple but effective performance, and required the actor to just maintain a level of earnest integrity, interwoven with a deep sadness that defines the character. Acting across from Ferrier is Charlotte Rampling, whose career is so extensive and well-regarded, any attempt to try and introduce her seems redundant. While she may normally have taken umbrage to playing these roles in the past, Rampling has been undergoing a significant second-act of her career, taking on more matriarchal parts that feel so much more complex than others we normally encounter, undeniably a result of Rampling’s steadfast dedication to her roles, which almost always result in very strong work from an actress perpetually capable of portraying complex, earnest characters that may be mysterious, but are crafted into unforgettable figures through the sheer power of Rampling’s introspective tendencies. The role of an alcoholic grandmother with anger issues and a desire to overcome her ailment just to spite those who said she could not is catnip for any older actress, and Rampling does not take this take particularly lightly – the plays Ruth with firm conviction and genuine compassion, and never once seems to be veering towards the real of parody, not even when the character is at her most excessive. It’s a beautiful, striking performance from an actress with a penchant for memorable portrayals, this just being yet another entry into her already iconic career.

Juniper has many interesting qualities, but more than anything else, it is a story about two people in a world that has grown hostile to the fact that they refuse to play by the rules, instead choosing to approach it from a place of rebellion. One of the most touching moments of this film comes when the two protagonists realize that, in spite of their generational differences, they are quite similar, at least in terms of both being able to appreciate the idea of carnage, and the constant avoidance of chaos by those around them only further motivates them to fight back. It’s a very moving portrayal of a generational dynamic, and it makes the relationship between Ferrier and Rampling so much stronger, since the story may be quite flaccid at times, but the development of these characters is entirely unforgettable, especially in the moments when we see the glimmer of hope that simmers beneath their otherwise contentious relationship. The film avoids leaning too heavily on the odd couple premise, instead choosing to focus on the gradual revelation of the underlying similarities that exist between the characters and how they come to an unspoken agreement, which ultimately results in them developing the kind of close relationship that we’d expect from grandparents and their descendants, just looking at a from a very different perspective. Juniper contributes to the discussion on the differences between generations through engaging with them directly, using these characters as archetypes that can be prodded and shapen to reflect the director’s own keen interests in the subject matter, which ultimately converges in a thrilling and complex exploration of family and grief that is a lot more layered through his methods of handling more difficult subject matter than we’d normally expect from a film of this nature.

While it may not be entirely revolutionary in a way that feels all that unique, Juniper is a terrific film, primarily for how it approaches some truly intimidating themes. This is a film that touches on the concept of ageing and death, looking at it directly from the perspective of two people, one of them a young man with a desire to die, the other an old woman with a genuine lust for life. This kind of contradiction has been done before, but not always as effectively as it was done here, with the contrast between the two main characters leading to a deeply sentimental exploration of the human condition, rendered in a way that is simple and evocative, and mostly quite sincere, especially when the formalities of overwrought exposition are replaced with a more authentic depiction of the relationship between the two main characters. Juniper has so many merits, most of which only manifest later into the film. However, its imperfections are not so unwieldy that it makes the film too uneven, especially when the mighty power of the narrative begins to shift away, and all we are left with is a genuinely moving story of two lost souls proving to be the remedy for the other, filling in the gaps in which hope is necessary, and helping each other see the unquestionable beauty of the world that surrounds them, most of which serves to be a reflection of our unimpeachable humanity, which is explored with intricate honesty and genuine compassion throughout this lovely, heartwrenching film that dares to ask the deeper questions about life and death, and everything in between.