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Nov 27, 2023

The mirror as self

Charlotte Wells’ feature film directorial debut, Aftersun, is undoubtedly one of the best films of 2022. It stars Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio (remarkably in her first-ever acting role) as Calum and

Charlotte Wells’ feature film directorial debut, Aftersun, is undoubtedly one of the best films of 2022. It stars Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio (remarkably in her first-ever acting role) as Calum and Sophie, a single dad and his daughter, who take a holiday to a resort in Turkey on the eve of Calum’s 31st birthday.

Aftersun is not an easy watch in many ways, despite its beautiful setting and occasional lighthearted moments. This largely stems from the fact that Calum is in the throes of a severe bout of depression, an episode that will perhaps even later claim his life, and there are several harrowing moments throughout the film in which he tries to hide his inner turmoil from his daughter for the sake of her own mental wellbeing.

But the one person Calum cannot hide from is the audience member, and we see clearly just how far into his anguish he resides. Of course, like any good father – and Calum is certainly that – he makes it his personal mission to ensure that Sophie has a good time on holiday and forms some good memories with him, especially seeing as she is in the custody of her mother back home in Edinburgh.

But quite often, it seems that that very insistence on having a good time and hiding his true emotions from Sophie is at the sacrifice of actually coming to terms with his own feelings, and there are several ways that Wells examines the dichotomies between Calum’s true depressive self and the falsely happy one he puts on for Sophie, and of the very relationship between father and daughter.

But there seems to be no more accurate, nor artistically inventive, method of the examination of self in Aftersun than through the use of mirrors and other reflective surfaces. There are a number of instances in which Wells deploys such props to significant effect, making it all the more clear that Aftersun is the debut work of a genuine cinematic artist. After all, a mirror is indeed an object which displays a true physical likeness of the one looking in it, but Wells’ use shows that we can sometimes use them to look beyond the mere physical self and into what lies within.

The first time we see a mirror used in this sense in Aftersun comes around 40 minutes into the film. We find Calum brushing his teeth at the sink with Sophie lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, clearly caught up in her thoughts. When she tells Calum she feels “a bit down or something”, Calum initially investigates. Sophie gives a strikingly accurate description of the generally accepted experience of depression, despite her being only 11 years old.

We might expect Calum to further discuss Sophie’s emotions with her, but as the camera pans around to the mirror to capture him at the sink, it’s clear Sophie is describing the exact way that Calum feels so often. His reaction is then to insist that he and Sophie are on holiday “to have a good time”, a deflection from the actual matter at hand. We’re left devastated when Calum spits his toothpaste not in the sink but at the mirror above it and, therefore, at himself.

Clearly, Calum feels responsible for allowing Sophie to experience his own anguish and depression, even though it’s likely not actually his fault. But it’s only through the inventive use of the mirror that we’re afforded a rare chance to see what is essentially an act of violence and hatred; only it’s all the more harrowing because it’s such an act against oneself.

Wells uses a reflective surface to an even greater and more heartbreaking degree just ten minutes later in another scene in Calum and Sophie’s hotel room. Sophie has plugged a camcorder into the television and proceeds to “interview” Calum, and while her intentions are well-meaning, what is revealed is again rather devastating.

The genius of this scene comes through a reflective surface again, though, because we can see two versions of Calum – one through the camcorder and another through the TV screen reflection. The beauty here is that we know that Calum himself is essentially split into two selves as well – one that is in the throes of a severe bout of depression and another that is desperately trying to protect his daughter from it by pretending to be OK.

When Sophie asks what Calum thought his adult life would be like when he was a child, it cuts him to his core. When he turns the camcorder off, only the “true” Calum remains in the screen’s reflection, amplified by his further appearance in the mirror behind the TV set. Without the pressure of being recorded, without memory being captured forever, Calum feels more able to discuss his past with his daughter and open up.

He tells Sophie that no one remembered his 11th birthday when she asks how he spent it, and it’s one of the first times that Calum is able to share his true loneliness, not only with Sophie but perhaps with anyone. It’s only a fleeting moment, though, because Calum then looks off into the distance out of the window, turning away from Sophie. And it’s all captured beautifully through the reflection of the TV set. After a period of silence, Calum collapses back onto the bed.

These are but two instances of the torturous self-reflection in Aftersun, but they are certainly two of the most artistic and inventive. Rather than capture the action directly, Wells instead uses reflective surfaces to represent the examination of self that is taking place, not only in Calum but occasionally in Sophie too. It’s moments such as these that give Wells’ debut all the critical acclaim it undoubtedly deserves, and she has established herself as a promising director with the undoubted potential of a genius artist.