Mary, a paleontologist, works alone selling common fossils to tourists. A
chance job offer changes Mary's life when a visitor hires her to care for
his wife.
Review by
Musanna Ahmed
Directed by: Francis Lee
Starring: Kate Winslet, Saoirse Ronan, James McArdle, Fiona Shaw, Gemma Jones
Yorkshire-based filmmaker Francis Lee broke through the industry
with God's Own Country, the critically acclaimed romantic drama in which a disillusioned
farmer finds solace in the arrival of a Romanian migrant worker who
changes his life. It was notable for starring no big names (Josh O’Connor’s star has since grown exponentially), not based on an existing IP,
and made without pre-existing industry connections - the filmmaker
simply had a solid story to tell and a team who believed in his
vision.
It was very successful, receiving good box office results and many
awards, including three at the independent film-oriented BIFA. With
Ammonite, Lee can expand his audience further with two well-known talents
leading the film. But what's more important is if he can expand his
artistic signature. The answer to that is… not quite.
Lee’s new gay romantic drama best functions as an elemental cinematic
experience. The lead actresses are wonderfully modest,
Jackie
cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine imbues the film with a lot of
truth through a naturalistic style, and the classic story of two secret
lovers follows a safe path, including a predictable finale, but not
without a resonant social subtext. But Ammonite also runs
on an exceedingly cool temperature, doesn’t satisfyingly pay tribute to
the biographed women, and doesn’t suggest Lee is broadening his thematic
horizons.
The narrative here is a fictionalised account of the acclaimed 19th
century paleontologist Mary Anning (Kate Winslet, who can do so
much with just a single glance) and a young middle-class woman,
Charlotte (Saoirse Ronan, equally effective), whom she falls in
love with during their time together on the Southern English coastline.
Mary’s reason for dwelling in the secluded, geologically rich town of
Lyme Regis is her job whereas Charlotte is brought here by her husband
Roderick (James McArdle), also a geologist and a fan of Mary’s
work. Evidently fatigued by a loveless marriage, Roderick offers Mary
some cash to kindly look after Charlotte and let her accompany her on
her expeditions as he moves elsewhere for their temporary stay.
With no love for dialogue and commanding his performers to deliver
appropriately understated performances, Lee sparks chemistry between his
characters through lingering close-ups, from the sight of Mary staring
at Charlotte’s bare feet to the mellow moments of Mary accompanying a
sick Charlotte overnight and sleeping beside her. The chemistry between
Ronan and Winslet isn’t obvious, but there are sex scenes that are
crafted so painstakingly that they could easily be the work - or at
least influence - of famed intimacy coordinator Ita O’Brien. While the
relationship unfolds in a way that’s occasionally too slow and too
subdued, it’s generally told fairly well. But there’s a neglect for who
the two women really were as individuals and what they achieved.
I didn’t learn anything about Anning’s achievements and the compulsory
end-of-biopic fact card is curiously missing, so I’ve no idea what any
of the characters went on to do. I would suspect it’s because there’s no
actual account of the heroine’s sexuality. So why take a woman who made
great contributions to society and repurpose her cinematic narrative as
a made-up love story? I wish I knew, because Lee isn’t exploring any
ideas about intimacy and loneliness that he didn’t already delve into so
well in his previous film.
There are some bigger discussions that are created if not stuck by,
such as the context of Anning’s recognition: if she was really given her
credit in this middle class sphere and how it may have contributed to
her closed off identity. There’s also a great scene in which she stares
at Charlotte having fun at the front row of a bougie exhibition, and
realises the gulf in social class between the two of them.
Lee is a breathtakingly subtle craftsman, and I’ll have to watch Ammonite
a second time to pick up all the nuances. Whether I want to
re-experience the snail-paced, chilly proceedings again is something
to think about another day but, for now, I look forward to reading the
perspectives of gay women writers who will find more - or possibly
less - subtext to chew on.
Ammonite is on Netflix UK/ROI
now.