LONDON FILM FESTIVAL REVIEW: ANDREW HAIGH’S MYSTIFYING QUEER GHOST TALE LEAVES A LASTING CHILL
Lonesome screenwriter Adam’s (Andrew Scott) chance encounter with a mysterious neighbour (Paul Mescal) leads him to his childhood home where he miraculously discovers his parents – who died thirty years ago – are taking residence in the house as if nothing had changed.
“I’ll protect you from the hooded claw, keep the vampires from your door”, plays the enigmatic opening line of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s unorthodox Christmas ballad. The band’s 1984 Top of the Pops rendition of ‘The Power of Love’ reverbs off the cool surfaces of Scott’s desolate Bauhaus apartment like a near-distant chill. Half-eaten Chinese takeaway rests on the side, whilst Adam appears to be fading into the furniture altogether. It’s a night-in alone if you’ve ever seen one, but the soft echos of Frankie’s spiritual tune leave an air of profound sadness that lingers throughout Andrew Haigh’s solitary ghost tale.
This image of routine loneliness is interrupted when a random fire drill brings Paul Mescal’s Harry a-knocking at Adam’s front door. Harry, drunk and slurring his words, asks Adam how he bears it – the emptiness. After all, these two are the sole residents of this towering London high-rise. “I’ll keep the vampires from your door,”, Harry jokes before Adam shuts him out – the obvious and recurring nods to the band indicate that this is not just a film about unearthing the past but a lifetime of someone who has suppressed their queerness. It’s a strange first encounter for an even stranger film that wears its heart on its sleeve and makes no effort to mask its aching sentimentality.
Based on the 1987 novel ‘Strangers’ by Taichi Yamada – Haigh brings a tenderness to the screen that’s truly palpable but sows his own queer messaging into the source material. Adam’s attempt to write about his past spawns the company of his dead parents upon the visit to his childhood home. Yet nothing appears to have changed (perm and all) – there’s no exposition spared at their arrival, it’s almost this unspoken thing – much like Adam’s internal struggle. He begins to make a habit of visiting them but, gradually, these unspoken feelings pull into focus. Conceptually similar to Mike Nichols’ mini-series Angels in America – which sees AIDS victims visited by angels in New York. But make no mistake, Haigh’s drama is singular in its execution. Endlessly mystifying and emotive, the director masterfully expresses queer solitude like no other and, as such, reveals how the ghosts from our past leave a lasting impact on our relationships today.
Music often serves as a powerful motif that transports us back to Adam’s childhood. The frequent references to Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Pet Shops Boys’ ‘You Were Always On My Mind’ paint the scene of a closeted gay child of the 80s, whose only true form of expression is found behind closed doors, in bedroom pin-ups and album covers. However, the significance of the AIDS crisis somewhat looms over the film, albeit implicitly. Adam’s parents aren’t necessarily displeased to discover he’s gay, but there’s a certain hesitation in their response which perhaps offers further insight into Adam’s need to disguise his true self. Though simple in its construction, this conceit of gay isolation is packed with suggestion and deeper nuances.
Upon revisiting his parents, Scott effortlessly transforms into this childlike state. To recall the past is like tampering with an open wound, and like a true tortured artist, Adam is apprehensive to grapple with his trauma. Scott nurtures Adam’s sensitivity and portrays him like a haphazardly glued-together porcelain doll – one rigorous shake away from being shattered into a million pieces. In his most significant role to date, Scott has unyielding magnetism in the spotlight here.
Keeping us in Adam’s small-world view, the cast is limited to four characters. Clare Foy delivers particularly infectious maternal instincts as Adam’s mum. The Crown actress – who only plays a supporting role here – forms a type of chemistry with Scott that’s truly affecting. There’s wistful magic to the moments shared between Adam and his parents; the scene where the family decorate the Christmas tree is particularly tender as Foy mouths the distant lyrics from the TV, “Maybe I didn’t love you quite as often as I should” – her face stills as she glances towards her son and the words take on new meaning. Though light on plot in a traditional sense – the film finds its catharsis in the smaller conversations contained within a picture, presenting a mirage of memories in an almost photo album-like effect.
Yamada’s novel is poignantly reinterpreted into a modern queer masterpiece that laments a universal struggle. “I’ve always felt like a stranger in my own family,”, says Harry and perhaps he’s right – perhaps to be queer is to be a stranger? That inescapable feeling of being confined to a life of loneliness. Haigh occasionally finds hope in this sentiment, but in its final crescendo, All of Us Strangers aims to leave a kind of sadness that lasts.
Written by James Punshon
GEM Magazine 