Ivan Radford | On 01, Apr 2024

Director: Andrew Haigh
Cast: Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Claire Foy, Jamie Bell
Certificate: 15

“They say it’s a lonely kind of life,” says the mum (Claire Foy) of Adam (Andrew Scott). “They don’t say that any more,” he corrects her. Adam has gone back to his childhood home to reconnect with his parents as an adult, and he’s just come out to them as gay. His journey to their house feels like time travel, partly thanks to their perma-1970s decor, hair and clothes. Adam, on the other hand, lives in a very present-day apartment block. And the truth is that he does live a very lonely life.

That loneliness seeps through every pore of Andrew Haigh’s hugely moving film. It’s a loneliness that’s not simply because Adam is gay, but is rooted, partly, in the disconnect between him and his parents – a disconnect that still carries a note of grief years later. Andrew Haigh’s script, based on Taichi Yamada’s novel Strangers, digs deep into that tragic, haunted note with a personal touch that’s utterly disarming. He even films the scenes at Adam’s parents’ home at his own parents’ former house in Croydon, adding to the delicate details of their scenes.

Claire Foy and Jamie Bell are wonderful as Adam’s welcoming mum and dad, their warmth counterbalanced by a wry, almost eerie regret that simmers below the smiling surface. Foy is at once taut and tender, while Bell is reserved yet heartfelt, and they both generously give Andrew Scott the space to move between grown-up and childlike from one second to the next.

Andrew Scott is immense in a performance of restrained emotion, bringing a fragility to his wide-eyed sincerity that is often unspoken but vividly painful. He sparks into life when he sees possibly the only other person living in his apartment block: Harry (Paul Mescal). Harry knocks on his door, a bottle of drink in hand, and what ensues is a burgeoning romance that recalls the fleeting, yearning intimacy of Haigh’s Weekend. Mescal matches Scott’s honesty with every heartbeat, his messy charisma feeding into a chemistry that feels almost otherworldly. Their moments together are raw and sensual, as the pair bond over coming of age in the 1980s, amid the trauma of the AIDs epidemic.

That nightmare lingers underneath the warm blanket of the mutual comfort their attachment provides. And in the isolation of this modern, urban world, that connection becomes even more of a vital lifeline for them both. It’s echoed in the gorgeous cinematography, flowing editing and the ethereal soundtrack – underpinned by Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s The Power of Love, which leave us meditating on the importance of connection. The result is a surprising, often devastating exploration of memory, time and relationships – a portrait of loneliness and love that’s shot through with melancholy. You won’t see another film this achingly vulnerable this year.

Add to Watchlist