‘Anemone’ review

By Nadia Dalimonte

Daniel Day-Lewis in Anemone

Eight years ago, Daniel Day-Lewis starred as Reynolds Woodcock in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread, a playfully stitched disruption of polite society…among many other elements (PTA is a consistently proven master of interconnected storytelling). Day-Lewis’s presence on screen has been deeply missed since then. While rumblings of retirement had emerged around the time Phantom Thread was released, it was only a matter of time before a new role tempted him back into the craft. A truly enticing role can bring nearly any actor out of hiatus. Anemone is indeed for the hungry boy. It’s a monologue-heavy drama without the excessive wordiness, relying more on the actor’s facial expressions and body language to convey his reclusive character’s interiority. Day-Lewis, who has blessed us with one acting masterclass after another, is back with something more personal, by nature and design. Not only is he the star, executive producer, and co-writer on Anemone; the film marks the feature directorial and screenwriting debut of his son, Ronan Day-Lewis. The pair navigate experimental terrain as they weather emotionally gruelling familial storms in Northern England. While the story buckles under the weight of heavy symbolism, there’s a great deal of compelling narrative tension bubbling underneath.

Anemone begins with a brace for impact. Jem (Sean Bean) says a prayer to himself and briefly comforts his wife, Nessa (Samantha Morton), before venturing out into the woods to reconnect with his estranged brother, Ray (Day-Lewis). It’s not exactly a reconciliation, but a reawakening on the horizon when Jem ruggedly appears at Ray’s doorstep, and is simply let in. For a while, both brothers sit in silence, drifting towards a haunted past, where Ray begins his first of a few killer monologues. He recites as though performing a soliloquy under a spotlight on stage, and Jem listens as though sitting front row in the dark. The dialogue is transporting. The creaking and crackling of Ray’s cabin, enveloped by violent winds, ground them in the present. Yet, there is something otherworldly about the location; it’s prone to the most vivid apparitions, as Ronan Day-Lewis would go on to explore.

Back in civilization, Nessa (Morton) and her teenage son Brian (Samuel Bottomley) sit in a similarly loud silence of unspoken trauma. While often isolated from each other, they share the thundering storm of Ray’s past hanging above them. Years ago, Ray had left his family behind. Now, Jem has gone to lure him out of the woods and back home to confront personal demons head on. Unraveling at a slow burn, the film sits in discomforting environments and bleak atmospheres. The direction and writing excel at emphasizing that there is no easy way out here. Rocky roads and punishing weather have stirred a storm in Ray, and Daniel Day-Lewis immerses himself into the character’s deeply wounded frame of mind.
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The film’s official premise — an exploration of complex ties between brothers, fathers, and sons — acts as a loose framework for director Day-Lewis to experiment. He goes for a shrouded character study in a fight against nature and its harsh elements. And of course, his vision is in excellent hands. Naturally, the actor’s return builds more than enough anticipation to pique curiosity. Day-Lewis keeps the momentum going as he devours a handful of monologues, making each line feel as though it’s just come to him, right then and there. The introductory monologue in Ray’s cabin sets a painful tone, as he draws from a devastating memory of abuse. With remarkable control, Day-Lewis brings the character’s emotionality and interiority to the surface, while holding space for his co-star to react.

Jem’s character is the break in the storm. He’s not necessarily there to verbally or physically engage, but his presence attracts the attention of his brother’s pain. Like moths to a flame, as the saying goes. The narrative setup initially suggests that this story will follow two brothers patching up their grievances with each other. But Jem’s character feels written as the ignition for Ray to restart. Jem is the catalyst for a turning point for how Ray has dealt with severe guilt and shame all these years. In a standout scene of Ray punching Jem, the violence feels random at first, until the realization that Ray’s anger is pointed towards being made to confront the contemporary.

The film is a double-edged sword in its use of imagery and symbolism. On the one side, Anemone excels at making you feel the environment on a visceral level, from the vivid cinematography to the impactful sound design. On the other hand, the film relies heavily on symbolism and stormy weather to evoke a level of tension that Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance already does, just in physicality alone. Notably, the film’s second half features a glowing apparition that leans slightly frustrating in its ambiguity. Additionally, whereas Ray’s character unravels with a thoughtful slow burn, the writing of Nessa and Brian’s characters back home is more repetitive in the themes they convey.

Anemone hinges on the brilliance of Daniel Day-Lewis to communicate a world of pain from the get-go. The film’s opening minutes speak volumes about Ray’s shielded wounds, bottled frustration, and decades worth of distance from his family. And in the shrouds, it’s not the imagery that provides clarity, but Day-Lewis’s performance. Not only does he masterfully illuminate Ray’s trauma, but he conveys the character’s newfound path to healing in real-time, bringing raw pain to light. With each new monologue comes another personal revelation, and his work gives the story new texture. While Anemone takes wobbly turns, in its experimental nature of figuring out what works and what doesn’t, the astonishing acting masterclass at its core paves a reliable path to follow.

Focus Features and Universal Pictures Canada will release Anemone nationwide on October 3.