Change is good – there isn’t anyone who has ever benefited from remaining the same, and whether it’s small shifts in attitudes or an entire overhaul of your identity and its external expression, the tendency to grow is undeniably important and frankly exciting in most instances. However, there’s something peculiar that happens when we encounter someone we thought was deeply embedded in the past, where we suddenly and momentarily regress into the version of ourselves that this person knew, and which has lingered in their memory. There’s nothing quite as unsettling as running into someone who still holds an outdated image of us in their minds, especially since the process of slowly educating them on how you have changed can be truly daunting. This is the foundation of Matt and Mara, the most recent offering from the exceptionally talented Kazik Radwanski, who tells the story of a university professor who is struggling with both marital strife and a lingering existential crisis, both of which are informed by her growing sense of ennui that seems impossible to dismantle. This starts to change when she runs into Matt, a friend with whom she had what we are led to believe was a torrid love affair in the past (although the specifics are not made clear), and his arrival stirs an abundance of emotions, both good and bad. As the pair become reacquainted, they begin to learn how they have changed over the years, most of which comes as quite a surprise to them both, especially as they’re holding onto the fond memories that are slowly beginning to fade as they address their past. A very simple film that is wholeheartedly aligned with the director’s previous works, Matt and Mara is an exceptional examination of a number of compelling themes, handcrafted by a filmmaker whose ambition certainly matches his incredible ability to tell such stunning, intricately-woven stories.

Matt and Mara is a difficult film to pin down, both in terms of its themes and how they’re executed. It’s not entirely inappropriate to look at it as an anti-romantic drama, since it isn’t a film about characters falling in love with each other, but rather growing a sense of affection for the past version of people they thought they knew, but who had changed extensively as time had progressed. At its core, the film follows the two titular characters as they attempt to reconnect after several years, showing how extraordinarily challenging it can be to rekindle a spark that has long since been extinguished by the inevitability of the passing years. Throughout the film, Radwanski is making astute observations on several themes – the most obvious being the literary and academic world in which both protagonists exist, albeit as unhappily as anyone in their positions could be, something that the director navigates with an abundance of tact and elegance, enough to sustain many of the film’s more unconventional elements. As we voyage deeper into this film and begin to observe some of its other ideas, we glean some fascinating details, most of which seem hopelessly out of place but which eventually come together beautifully, acting as a subtle and evocative set of reminders to the nature of human connection, and how challenging it can be to maintain these bonds that usually grow tenuous and fragile as time progresses. Offering insights into a specific kind of domestic banality that anyone who has felt trapped in an otherwise pleasant life will immediately recognise, Matt and Mara has quite an ambitious set of themes that are executed with such extraordinary precision by a director whose steadfast commitment to this premise is nothing if not wholeheartedly valuable and insightful.

At the very centre of Matt and Mara are two performances that are more than just roles played by actors, but rather fully-formed, complex characters that are as detailed as they are realistic. The film was created in collaboration with Matt Johnson and Deragh Campbell, both of whom have made valuable strides in bringing Canadian film to a global audience. The former has slowly amassed quite an impressive directorial career, whereas the latter is a spirited performer who has worked on several projects, including some with Radwanski (particularly her leading role as the titular character in Anne at 13,000ft), who seems to see something extremely compelling in her as an actor, and which he gleefully showcases throughout this entire film, which is only made more enthralling based on how he creates these characters. These are not easy parts to play – at a glance, they seem quite simple, especially since they’re drawing from familiar situations (Johnson even plays a character with the same name, but it’s decidedly not at all a fictionalised version of himself), just being slightly heightened for dramatic effect. The push-and-pull of the characters’ relationship is the core of the film, with Johnson’s happy-go-lucky author and Campbell’s more downbeat, ruminative academic being an unconventional duo – but its in this very structuring of the story as a more quiet odd couple scenario that we find Matt and Mara is most effective, since the differences between the characters are very effectively highlighted as the film progresses, becoming a nuanced study of how two seemingly opposed individuals who differ in just about every conceivable way, but yet who have some unspoken connection that binds them together, to the point where even several years of not existing as an active participant’s life doesn’t entirely erode their bond, something that the film explores beautifully. Both actors commit to these roles, which require an abundance of emotional dedication, piecing together these complex characters with such extraordinary precision and insight.

Formally, Matt and Mara don’t seem particularly noteworthy, which is actually the key to the success. Radwanski does not make films that are visually bold or exciting, but rather builds them in reference to the smaller, more intimate independent dramas of previous years. There is a lot of John Cassavetes and Jim Jarmusch in his work, particularly since they’re quiet, meditative character studies based on exploring the human condition more than making bolder assumptions about subjects too large and unwieldy for such a film. The technique here is not to define but rather to describe certain elements – we are plunged into this story, becoming voyeurs into the day-to-day lives of these characters as they navigate many unexpected challenges that come with attempting to reconnect with someone with whom we have a storied past. It had the potential to be overly awkward and stiff, especially considering the director’s inspirations in terms of both story and style, yet Matt and Mara are so extraordinarily compelling in a way that feels genuinely engrossing, which is all part of the experience. It moves at quite a slow pace, but it is all intentional – the focus isn’t on creating something innovative, but rather forming a methodical, detailed analysis of these characters as they navigate various challenges while attempting to maintain their composure when they realise the bleak realities that stand before them. It’s wonderfully evocative, complex filmmaking in which the simple, unfurnished style is an extraordinary asset, as it allows for our full attention to be firmly on these characters as they move through certain challenging scenarios, each one compounding into their steadily declining grasp on a reality that they both thought they understood, but which is revealed to be hopelessly confusing.

A truly compelling, well-crafted character study with an equal abundance of heart and soul, Matt and Mara is a fascinating examination of human connections and the elements that bind us together as time progresses, and how daunting it can be to realise that those with whom we thought we had a lifelong bond may not be the same people we left behind. Time changes us, and while the joy of reconnecting with an old friend cannot be understated, there’s still something profoundly unsettling about how challenging it can be to reconcile with the past. The comfort of nostalgia is not always effective when it begins to influence the present, especially since it becomes increasingly a burden as we navigate that ambiguous space between memory and its concurrent realisations. Radwanski has such a distinct voice, and through placing the focus on his actors, who are hand-selected to bring these characters to life, he creates a moving, enthralling drama about lost connections and the obstacles that come when trying to rekindle relationships that should have been left in the past. Anchored by wonderful performances and a genuinely moving approach to a relatively simple subject, it’s not surprising that Matt and Mara has resonated so widely, both in terms of its underlying ideas and all how it explores these various dynamics, doing so with a constant attention to detail that feels quite encapsulating and genuinely very moving.