When given the opportunity, who among us wouldn’t want to work professionally with our beloved family members? The prospect of collaborating with our closest loved ones certainly seems appealing when you look at it from a distance, since it removes the barrier of professionalism and usually seems to be conducive of a more relaxed, informal atmosphere. Naturally, anyone who has actually done professional work with family members knows that it is certainly far from ideal, and can actually be more challenging, since rather than facilitating a calmer and more friendly atmosphere, the exact inverse is more likely: the stark realisation that familiarity does not always pair well with professionalism, and can often lead to a breakdown in even the most sincere of relationships. We see the dangers of families working together in the form of Anemone, the directorial debut of Ronan Day-Lewis, who wrote the film in collaboration with his father Daniel-Day-Lewis, returning after nearly a decade of retirement to star in one of the most bewildering works of the year. The film tells the story (if you can refer to an assemblage of disjointed conversations connected by some supposedly deeper themes) of Jem, a family man who momentarily leaves his home in the suburbs of Northern England to go in search of his brother Ray, who lives in a remote cabin in the forest, where he has been hiding for years, shielding himself from both his past actions and the people impacted by poor decisions. Jem comes to his brother with a simple request, but one that he realises is going to take far more work to convince him to honour, which leads to a rekindling of a relationship that has been weathered by years of angst-fueled separation. Despite having a decent premise, Anemone is a truly poor film solely because of how it squanders every ounce on potential on a story that needed a stronger visionary guiding it forward, since despite being the product of two immensely talented artists, the director is far from skilled enough to compensate for the clear flaws that not only weigh this film down, but make it an actively frustrating experience from start to finish.

Many of us will remember that fateful day at some point in 2017, when the headlines made the announcement: Daniel Day-Lewis was set to retire. He had delivered what many consider to be his greatest performance in Phantom Thread (although many still contest that it was There Will Be Blood was his best work, but that’s a subject for another conversation altogether), and while it was admittedly disappointing that such a good actor was stepping away from the industry (albeit not for the first time, as this was his third or fourth retirement), he was at least going out with one of the strongest films in his illustrious career. Unfortunately, nearly a decade passed before he was essentially maneuvered out of what appeared to be his most sincere attempt at leading a private life, but rather than returning for some respected auteur or regular collaborator, it was to lead his son’s attempt at becoming a filmmaker. In hindsight, we would all want to support our family in their pursuits, but for someone who is known for being extremely selective about his projects, it seemed bewildering that he would choose this as his return, at least on principle. What becomes clear throughout Anemone is that he is not any better than the film that surrounds him – we would at least expect a stellar performance even if the quality of the story or direction was sub-par, but unfortunately, Day-Lewis is doing some of his broadest and most insincere work since his start in the 1980s, with the character of Ray strumming just about every one of the worst impulses that we find criticised by those who are not blindly allegiant to Day-Lewis’ style of acting. He’s also not simply the victim of a poor screenplay, since he co-wrote the film, and is ultimately just as complicit in the creation of such a bland, unlikable character, and therefore doesn’t earn an ounce of our sympathy. Sean Bean tries to hold his own, but he’s merely set dressing for what is essentially two hours of Day-Lewis bellowing every thought that crosses his mind as his character undergoes a clear psychological breakdown. It’s maybe Day-Lewis’s worst performance to date, and it weighs the film down more than it elevates it, one of its many shortcomings.

Considering we understand why this film exists, surely we need to ask an equally important question: what was it attempting to say? Unfortunately, this isn’t quite as easy to answer, since rather than being credited to the desire to pluck an actor out of retirement (which I suppose is as good a reason as any), the specific themes that Day-Lewis set out to explore are far less obvious. We don’t quite know what message the father and son intended to communicate, outside of perhaps wanting to explore the challenges that come with running away from the past, and how one’s actions always have a tendency to catch up with them, regardless of how carefully we hide from the outside world. This on its own sounds like a promising start, until we realise there is nothing beneath the surface – it’s a tacky and unlikable mess, since it fails to make even the simplest of points seem like they resonate with any real meaning, becoming truly unconvincing despite tackling a subject that we have seen be the foundation for several films in the past, most of which were far more effective than this horrifically written jumble of ideas. As a reflection on the storied past of the region, particularly the period known as the Troubles, it’s truly hollow, trying so desperately to be seen as some ambitious drama about a man’s meditation on the past and the anger he has been carrying for decades. Yet, there’s simply nothing there onto which we can hold, and the experience of making our way through this film is so frustrating considering how it refuses to do anything even vaguely interesting with the material. To its credit, the idea of looking at the burden of the past, especially reflected through the mind of someone who has been labelled a war criminal, but whose actions that led there could be explained, consistently falls on deaf ears. It’s not a good film by any means, and the screenplay falls apart at the seams almost immediately as a result. 

The execution of Anemone is a case study in how intention can curdle into inertia without the right amount of effort, with every emotional beat announced so loudly and insistently that it suffocates any chance of genuine feeling, leading to a truly shallow experience without any redeeming qualities. Rather than trusting images, rhythm, or silence, the film leans on blunt cues and emphatic signalling, resulting in a tone that is relentlessly overwrought, heavy-handed, and ultimately dull, which is its downfall and the moment we realise that there is no salvation to be found anywhere in this dreadfully bland film. Moments that might have benefitted from some creative ambiguity or meaningful tension are instead flattened by an anxious need to underline their significance, as if the film fears being misunderstood and therefore refuses subtlety at every possible opportunity, refusing to give the audience the benefit of the doubt. This approach drains the work of emotional credibility; the feelings on display are not discovered or experienced but imposed, leaving the viewer aware of the machinery rather than the meaning, and therefore highlighting every one of its flaws. Compounding this is the director’s striking lack of visual command, clearly being as strong a director as he is a writer. The compositions are inert, offering little sense of aesthetic intention or expressive framing, and the camera rarely does more than record what is placed in front of it, despite having ample opportunities to prove its worth. There is no visual argument unfolding alongside the narrative, no interplay between form and theme, and hardly any moments where the image deepens or complicates what the script insists upon. Editing and pacing further exacerbate the problem, stretching scenes long past their natural life while failing to build momentum or resonance. In the end, the film’s execution feels both laboured and curiously empty, becoming a work straining for emotional impact without the craft to earn it, and a director who mistakes insistence for insight while neglecting the basic visual language that might have given the material some force.

There is no way to say it without being direct, so it’s best to just present it as bluntly as possible: Anemone is a disaster, a film that borders on incompetent at the best of times, and frankly insulting at the worst, and perhaps the most frustrating part of it is that every shortcoming could have easily have been prevented had nepotism not being the primary propellant for this film. There is no way to look at this film as anything other than a bloated vanity project – to be brutally honest, it seemed less like an opportunity for the emergence of a new voice in contemporary cinema, and more a shortcut for the director to get some credits behind his name without the supposed inconvenience of actually doing the work that it takes people who aren’t the product of world-renowned actors to prove themselves. I am not someone who dismisses an artist just because of their connections or ancestry, but when it is blatant that this is nothing more than a shallow attempt to get around the system, we lose all pity when the work fails, which is absolutely the case with this misguided and frankly irritating film. It contains terrible acting from someone who is always lauded as some generational talent, but yet lacks the restraint to realise that he can’t rely on the same process of playing to the rafters, since while Day-Lewis is known for his intensity, it loses its impact when it is directed towards someone who doesn’t challenge him as an artist, which is why people like Martin Scorsese, Paul Thomas Anderson and Steven Spielberg managed to extract such exceptional work from him, since he has a talent that needs to be harnessed rather than allowed to roam freely. Anemone is an absolute misfire, and one of the year’s worst films – I’d usually be reluctant to cite a directorial debut with such a distinction, but its vanity and inability to actually do anything valuable, while still forcing us to join in on its masquerade of self-importance, removes any doubt that this is just a dismal work, and nothing more than a complete waste of our time and effort.