The leap from actor to director is not always an easy one. While we can often view it as merely an attempt to assert one’s vanity in another position (usually because it is the result of an actor leveraging their fame to gain a large budget and an immediate bundle of credibility), there are instances where it evolves from their genuine passion for a specific story or idea. In the case of Kristen Stewart, her decision to step behind the camera was less a matter of satisfying a burning desire to direct, and more the result of her affection for The Chronology of Water, the memoir written by Lidia Yuknavitch, a former professional swimmer who overcame domestic abuse, substance addiction and battles with mental health, becoming an acclaimed writer and teacher who continues to guide young people to achieve their goals. This became the foundation for this film adaptation, which sees Stewart doing her best to pay tribute to Yuknavitch’s fascinating life, a task that is much more difficult than we may imagine, considering the numerous hardships she endured throughout the years. The results are middling to say the least – it proves to be the very definition of a film with good intentions that are squandered by poor execution, especially since some of the techniques Stewart employs are rudimentary to the point where it becomes quite a bewildering experience. Far from a disaster, but rather a well-meaning jumble of ideas and images, none of which are ever cohesive or arranged into any logical order, The Chronology of Water is frequently trying to stay afloat, despite having all the potential to be a far more nuanced, captivating work, had there just been a more precise attention to detail on the part of the director, or at the very least some degree of consistency in how Stewart chose to adapt this material, rather than just aiming for the most obvious elements in the hopes that focusing on the more predictable ideas would make it a more effective film as a whole.

There is an innate challenge that comes with adapting an autobiography, and this is a perfect place to discuss something that should always be kept in mind when looking at the transition from page to screen. Film is a very different medium to the printed word, and the harsh reality is that not every memoir can (or even should) be brought to life on screen – in some cases, its a matter of morality, since some stories simply have to be told by the subject themselves, and in others, its simply because it can be daunting to condense particular ideas into the visual format. Yuknavitch’s autobiography is an unforgettable piece of literature solely because of how she handles language and uses words to describe her complex, layered life, and this unfortunately does not translate very well to screen, especially with someone like Stewart at the helm, a first-time filmmaker who has a lot of ambition, but lacks the skill needed to recognise everything that makes the original material so compelling. The Chronology of Water is a story of overcoming some of life’s most daunting challenges, and Yuknavitch’s candour when it comes to discussing her past is the main reason we’re drawn to her writing. She is someone who suffered tremendously throughout her life, but whose willingness to fight for her right to exist and her eventual ability to become a success all on her own are truly motivating. As far as thematic material goes, The Chronology of Water is quite conventional – it touches on domestic abuse, drug and alcohol addiction, relationship strife, familial challenges and the mental health issues, all of which are the bedrock of the original text. The film adaptation does follow it quite closely, and ultimately does present itself as a relatively chronological account of the author’s life, with Stewart not taking any real risks in terms of how she chooses to adapt the book, which is perhaps a sign that she intended to be a bit more safe with the material than we may have expected, even if we can understand such an approach for the most part.

Yet, the primary problem with The Chronology of Water is not anything to do with how Stewart adapts the material (if anything, her decision to play it safe and focus on a more straightforward sequence of events is entirely acceptable considering she’s making her debut with quite a tricky text), but rather that she doesn’t know the right approach to bringing these ideas to screen. Stewart has worked with some of the greatest filmmakers of their generation, and as a devotee of cinema, she’s clearly seen works by countless others. So much of this informs her direction here; it often comes across as nothing more than a collage of inspirations, cribbed from half a century of arthouse and independent films and reconfigured to match this story. It lacks any unique visual style, and often comes across as quite bewildering – the camera being placed far too close to the faces of the characters, rapid-fire editing (most scenes don’t last for longer than a minute or two) and strange aesthetic and aural choices that don’t match the material in any way, and makes the film feel like nothing more than heavy-handed artistic posturing that mistakes unconventional directorial decisions for originality, when the complete inverse is more true. It’s also an unexpectedly overwrought film, and Stewart struggles to temper the emotions in any meaningful way – too often we find the film going from quiet and pensive in one moment, to overly hysterical and bewildering in others. In some cases, this would be a sign of contrast and complexity, but with Stewart, it feels like an inability to accurately temper the tone of the film, leading to a story that is far less elegant than we would hope. It also doesn’t help that the film meanders far too frequently, being a mismatched jumble of ideas that never seem to reach a particular point, despite having a relatively strong set of guidelines presented in the form of the original text, which was done an immense disservice by a film that was seemingly in pursuit of something it knew it was unable to achieve.

If there is one aspect of The Chronology of Water that we can at least appreciate, if not layer some praise on, it would be the performances. Everyone is doing relatively good work, despite being eclipsed by some of the more questionable directorial decisions, and they do manage to marginally elevate the film in some areas. The anchor of the film is Imogen Poots, a wonderful actor who has been working for years, yet still feels like she is not given her due, despite an excellent body of work that reflects her unique skills. The part of Yuknavitch is not an easy one, since she has to run the full gamut of emotions, going from a victim of domestic abuse to an addict, before re-emerging from her cocoon as this inspirational, compelling figure who defied the odds and became not only a tremendous athlete and artist, but someone who motivates others to be the best version of themselves. It’s a mostly subtle, delicate performance anchored by Poots’ firm commitment to the material (and we can also give credit to Stewart for resisting the temptation to cast herself in the lead role – many actors-turned-directors tend to take this exact approach), and she is much better than the film that surrounds her. The supporting cast is solid – Thora Birch continues to mount a lovely comeback in the part of Yuknavitch’s sister and her most trusted confidante, while Kim Gordon (in a rare acting appearance) and Jim Belushi play her mentors, small parts that add much-needed nuance to a film that was sorely missing this kind of attention to detail. It’s a very good cast, and while the characterisation itself is not always particularly strong, the actors are capable of filling in the gaps, helping prevent The Chronology of Water from faltering in one of the key areas in which it needed to succeed to be at least partially faithful to the intentions of the original text.

The Chronology of Water is a difficult film to discuss, since there is a large disconnect between the passion that fueled its production and the actual practical qualities that were just as important as the subject matter. Stewart deserves credit for the effort, as well as the clear admiration she has for the material, which is enough to at least give her the benefit of the doubt. The problem is that she falls into the same trite conventions that we have grown to see as cliches when it comes to first-time directors – overly didactic writing where the dialogue feels both stilted and limiting, direction that is profound heavy-handed (as if she was over-extending herself to prove her skills), and an overall atmosphere of having to justify her decision to step behind the camera. It also doesn’t help that the film runs far too long, since it doesn’t warrant being over two hours long, especially since there are at least half a dozen moments that could have easily been strong endings, only for the real conclusion to be deflated by having put the viewer through quite an exhausting, overly bland narrative that never really honours the source material in any meaningful way. This isn’t to say Stewart should refrain from directing in the future – she has a good visual eye, it just needs to be more clearly defined as her own, rather than being copied from dozens of her forerunners. The film is a middling effort, but one that does hint at a lot of potential, so we can hope that she will iron out these flaws for the next directorial outing, which will certainly be worth our time, especially when it becomes clear that her passion is tangible, it just needs a vessel that can fully encapsulate her skills, rather than leading to a mediocre biographical film that has reverence for its subject, but lacks the energy or nuance needed to actually make an impact in the process.