While she is mostly remembered for her groundbreaking work as a photographer, Diane Arbus was an exceptionally gifted social critic, and the commentary that surrounds her art is almost as intriguing as the photographs themselves. However, one of her most important statements on the nature of art comes in the form of the statement “a photograph is a secret about a secret – the more it tells you, the less you know” – and while this isn’t the first time we’ve used this as a starting point to describe a film, it bears a lot of relevance. Someone who recently seemed to be guided by this principle (whether intentionally or otherwise) is Charlotte Wells, whose directorial debut Aftersun is a gloriously powerful and intricately-woven exploration of the boundaries between artistic expression and the role it plays in reflecting the realities faced by the person creating it. Much like Arbus, the camera is the tool Wells uses to construct a particular narrative and reflect on deeper themes that are evoked in the process. Her impetus is looking at the final holiday she spent with her father during her preteen years, where they bonded in the sun-baked landscapes of a Turkish resort, not aware that their time together was finite, and would come to an end much faster than they could have ever imagined. Aftersun is a film that has all of its ideas beautifully packaged together in such a way that the heavier emotions seem extraordinarily authentic – and the smallest and most inconsequential details form the foundation for this film, which is a rich and vivid depiction of the relationship between a young father and his daughter as they navigate what appears to be their final summer together (Wells is quite sparse in terms of providing too many details in this regard), and the extent to which they depended on one another in their efforts to make their way towards an uncertain future.

An appropriate description for Aftersun is as a visual memoir – fragments of the director’s childhood reflected in vivid detail, done through a series of recollections and reflections that explore deep-seated psychological issues that she has carried with her for decades, and chose to examine through constructing art that allows her to communicate her emotions, confront her insecurities and work through the grief that she has been carrying for years. We don’t speak about the cathartic power of art as much as we should, despite the fact that we often see works produced that are directly designed to communicate specific ideas as the director or writer address their own personal issues. Memory is a theme that art frequently explores, even if it isn’t always directly communicated at first. This film doesn’t have any hesitation in directing our attention towards the fact that it is a series of recollections on the part of the protagonist, who is a thinly-veiled version of the director herself, who uses her perspective to explore the relationship she had with her late father over the course of a few days, which somehow seem both fleeting and interminable. Wells uses his film to explore the past and work through her own trauma, and the viewer often feels like we’re being invited to peer into the lives of these characters in the process – we’re not voyeurs, since the atmosphere is one where the director genuinely wants us to accompany on her through this journey, but it is still an incredibly personal work, and much like the recent films by Joanna Hogg, the emphasis is on the director making use of the time and space she was given to ask the questions for which she is seeking the resolution, rather than constructing a straightforward and conventional account of her childhood. As a result, we’re expected to decode many of the more abstract concepts, which can be quite challenging for a work as internal and ethereal as Aftersun, but part of the experience is simply being able to observe the lives of these characters as they make their way through unfamiliar terrain, both physically and psychologically.

The concept of a director reflecting on their past in semi-autobiographical films is not a new idea, nor is it one that is all that revolutionary, even when it is done extremely well. Wells has a very keen eye for detail, and not only is she a brilliant storyteller (albeit one that seems predisposed to more simple narratives), but she has a remarkable directorial vision that immediately establishes her as one of the most exciting young voices in contemporary cinema. Aftersun is a film assembled from fragments, which gives it a very specific style, one that is not particularly common. Some may even make the fatal mistake of thinking that this film is too subtle or slow-paced, or rather that these elements somehow make the film less impactful. We tend to conflate slower cinema with a lack of storytelling prowess, especially when it is as quiet and intimate as this film. However, there is virtue in recognizing that not every work has to be rapidly paced or hold our attention in conventional ways – some can simply just exist as quiet, tranquil explorations of the human condition that never feel impelled to go for the huge moments, especially not when the story doesn’t facilitate such scenarios. Aftersun is a masterful example of simple, elegant filmmaking that makes bold statements in quiet ways, rather than announcing its own intentions. It is composed of quiet moments between these two characters, reflecting a sense of realism, but never being bound to the need to be entirely linear. There’s a dreamlike quality to the film that we see emerge gradually over the course of the story, and we are encouraged to luxuriate in the themes, basking in the gorgeous landscapes in which these characters spend a few days, not aware of how these moments will be the subject of deep reflection and introspection in the coming years. We often don’t cherish what we have until it’s gone, and this film explores these themes with elegance and a simmering intensity, which may not be tangible at first, but which becomes more clear as we become more accustomed to seeing these characters interact.

The main driving principle of Aftersun is that this is a character-driven piece – its a painting in motion, and this doesn’t only refer to the gorgeous cinematography (Gregory Okecomposes countless unforgettable shots that are amongst the most beautiful of the year), but in terms of the stoicism and complexity of the characters, who we view as if they are distant figures, moving through a landscape that represents the scattered memories of the director. Through this we find that this film is very much driven by characters as much as it is the atmosphere, and it was important for Wells to find the right actors to play the roles. Paul Mescal has rapidly grown into a very interesting actor, and while his career is still in its infancy, he has a truly promising future ahead of him. He has been featured in a small handful of projects prior to this one, but Aftersun proves to be a moment of transition, an opportunity for him to show that his acclaimed performance in Normal People was not a scenario in which someone captured lighting in a bottle, but rather indicative of a deep set of talents that would establish him as a compelling young actor with a bright future ahead of him. The film arguably does require us to suspend disbelief in some ways (Mescal looks and acts slightly too young to be playing a father, but we soon learn that this was actually a deliberate choice, and it becomes quite effective in the film’s final scenes), but for the most part, his performance is a polished, complex depiction of a young man who was thrown into a position of being a parent far too early, and who finds himself trying to navigate both his own shifting identity, as well as taking on the role of being a good father. The way Wells frames Mescal is quite peculiar – he is in nearly every scene, but yet we feel like we never quite know who he is. This is directly reflective of the director’s intentions to use this film to explore the fact that, despite being close with her father in her younger years, there were far too many secrets that kept him at a distance – and it’s a harrowing feeling to look back and realize that, despite loving someone, we often find that we don’t know them all that well, which is the central theme that governs much of this film, and which is embedded in the performances given by both Frankie Corio and Mescal, both being excellent throughout the film.

Aftersun could have easily have fallen victim to being another overwrought, needlessly excessive account of the intersection between childhood memories and the trauma of losing a loved one, especially if we take into consideration how much of this film was drawn from the director’s own life, much of the story being pensive, quiet examinations of the past, the impact of which only the artist herself knows, since it played a vital role in her development. However, Wells is clearly invested in actually focusing on the artistic side of the process as much as she is on the psychological, so there was a concerted effort to ensure that Aftersun worked just as well as a film as it did a poignant examination of her childhood, or at least one part of it. We don’t get much context to what happened before or after the events depicted, which forces us to focus specifically on what we see presented to us, piecing together a broader narrative based on the paltry but nonetheless meaningful information we receive over the course of the film. It’s an intimate character study that doesn’t aim to be more than this – there is a version of this film that is far more traditional, with moments designed to forcibly evoke emotions, as well as a neat resolution that answers all of our questions. While that approach may have been more conventional, Aftersun works best when it is at its most vague, since it’s in those ambiguities that we find the most meaning, which is precisely what Wells was aiming to achieve here. This is an incredibly personal film, and we are truly fortunate that this remarkable cinematic voice has given us access into her mind for a short amount of time, inviting us to venture into her deepest memories as we see her visual depictions of the past, which manifest in this extraordinarily complex, enthralling piece of cinema that may be quiet and sedate on the surface, but has a unique sensibility that is simply impossible to resist, and easily qualifies Aftersun as one of the year’s most moving films.