Aftersun

“Well, like... Sometimes at playtime, I look up at the sky and if I can see the Sun then... I think that the fact that we can both see the Sun, so even though we're not actually in the same place and we're not actually together... we kind of are in a way, you know? Like we're both underneath the same sky, so... kind of together.” I’m not lying when I say I’ve never been more impacted by a film than this; Aftersun is quite simply a masterpiece. One of the best endings to a film that I’ve ever seen. Such a beautifully written film about how depression consumes one’s life. Throughout the film we follow Pual Mescal’s character through a vacation he has with his 11 year old daughter Sophie. It’s beautifully filmed. Beautifully acted. But there’s an omnipresent undertone that haunts Paul’s character and the audience. It’s like the audience is waiting for something to happen–waiting to see what happens after the sun goes down. It lives in the small, organic father-daughter moments. It tore me down and left me sitting, contemplating everything. It taught me more about myself than any other film ever has.