A beautiful, hypnotic, and intense exploration of trauma and identity
Kristen Stewart’s feature film directorial debut is an adaptation of American writer Lidia Yuknavitch’s autobiography, showing her escape from her abusive family home through competitive swimming, college and creative writing, and finally teaching. The opening shots of The Chronology of Water set out its mission statement: fragmented images in close-up, with non-diegetic, poetic narration. Patterns establish themselves. The past returns and returns, and the future is always waiting. Dialogue and shots return across places, times, across contexts. The Chronology of Water can never keep still; flashbacks and flashforwards are always interrupting the narrative, driving it on. New elements are constantly being introduced. Even during the closing credits, different moments from the film are replayed in an echo of the beginning. Despite the fragmentation, it feels incredibly cohesive.
The Chronology of Water uses the language of film as poetry, taking the medium to its full potential. Olivia Neergard-Holm’s editing is what makes the film; the changes in pace and rhythm are hypnotic. The disjointed speed of the opening gives way to the slower, awkward reunion between a pregnant Lidia and her sister, with more reflective, deliberate scenes. At the halfway mark the film grows in energy and intensity again, before slowing again for the final sequences.
The film looks absolutely beautiful, especially the deep and vivid reds and blues, but also the fleshy pinks and browns of the buildings and bodies that populate it throughout. The Chronology of Water mostly eschews wide shots in favour of close ups; when they do appear, they are isolating and desolate. It’s a film full of contrasts, foils and reflections- mother and daughters; the two sisters; tranquility and chaos. Moments of levity are present, but rare, although the ending’s hopefulness means the audience isn’t left too depressed by the end.
All of the performances are great. Imogen Poots is haunting as Lidia; other highlights are Thora Birch’s Claudia, Michael Epp as their abusive father Mike, and Jim Belushi’s Ken Kesey. The score and soundtrack work brilliantly, full of scratching violins and buzzing keyboards, reinforcing the intensity of the atmosphere. The reading at the awards ceremony is a particularly exciting moment, with the dialogue slipping between diegetic and non-diegetic.
The Chronology of Water feels remarkably complete, exploring the impact of childhood sexual abuse and trauma, especially on romantic and sexual relationships, along with the power of art- specifically writing- along with womanhood, motherhood, and sexuality. Especially in its opening section, it feels preoccupied with bodies, skin, and sex, with the camera lingering on teeth, breasts, buttocks. As the film goes on, and the still camera changes to a handheld one and back again, its focus widens, taking in pregnancy and childbirth, death, and the transformational power of fiction. Each of the different parts of The Chronology of Water feels like it could easily have been in its own film, speaking to its remarkable yet seemingly effortless complexity.
The Chronology of Water is a stunning debut feature film, entrancing and complex, subtle and in your face, calm and energetic all at once.