The Lost Daughter (2021)
January 1, 2022 5:31 PM - Subscribe
A woman's beach vacation takes a dark turn when she begins to confront the troubles of her past.
Maggie Gyllenhaal's directorial debut stars Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Dakota Johnson, and Ed Harris.
Maggie Gyllenhaal's directorial debut stars Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Dakota Johnson, and Ed Harris.
Just finished watching. Really powerful. Still processing it. I may come back with more thoughts but I really loved it. Curious about others’ impressions.
posted by profreader at 3:20 PM on January 2, 2022
posted by profreader at 3:20 PM on January 2, 2022
I needed to process this one myself, and still do. I'm going to watch it again, but I really enjoyed the atmosphere, the ambiguity, the performances, and the willingness to allow a female character to enjoy sex, not enjoy parenting, and just generally be difficult when she wants to be without judgment. Also, more Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley in everything, please.
posted by Zonker at 3:48 PM on January 2, 2022 [1 favorite]
posted by Zonker at 3:48 PM on January 2, 2022 [1 favorite]
I loved everything about this movie until the last minute. Very few movies have stacked so many ambiguous layers so effectively, never letting us or the characters entirely off the hook. I'd never seen flashbacks used that way, to deepen our distance and test our ability to bond with the character. Sometimes I couldn't like her, but I couldn't look away, and it's rare to have a female character occupy a screen with so much difficulty.
But then that orange came out, and it felt like someone pushed a button to take a sad song and make it better. It felt like being given a Kit Kat bar at the end of a high-quality meal; not a good finish.
posted by argybarg at 3:24 PM on January 3, 2022 [1 favorite]
But then that orange came out, and it felt like someone pushed a button to take a sad song and make it better. It felt like being given a Kit Kat bar at the end of a high-quality meal; not a good finish.
posted by argybarg at 3:24 PM on January 3, 2022 [1 favorite]
Good essay: https://www.romper.com/entertainment/watching-the-lost-daughter-was-a-physical-experience
Particularly this: Every time that Leda chose to do something other than accommodate the wants and needs of other people, I felt terrified for her.
That last minute was a bit pat, but didn't hurt the brilliance of the whole thing for me. As the end neared, I was relieved that the foreshadowed violence played out the way it did, keeping it all tightly wound and in scale with the rest of the story.
posted by bendybendy at 1:50 PM on January 14, 2022 [1 favorite]
Particularly this: Every time that Leda chose to do something other than accommodate the wants and needs of other people, I felt terrified for her.
That last minute was a bit pat, but didn't hurt the brilliance of the whole thing for me. As the end neared, I was relieved that the foreshadowed violence played out the way it did, keeping it all tightly wound and in scale with the rest of the story.
posted by bendybendy at 1:50 PM on January 14, 2022 [1 favorite]
…in scale wit the rest of the story”
Was the thing. A good/tough story well told. (Such a tough character! And like all difficult and attractive and repulsive and compelling and damn-near disasterous. Brilliantly portrayed and brilliantly told.
There’s a similar Alice Munro story, a mother loses touch with her daughter and sketches her ambivalence - it’s similarly affecting.
posted by From Bklyn at 3:17 PM on January 22, 2022 [1 favorite]
Was the thing. A good/tough story well told. (Such a tough character! And like all difficult and attractive and repulsive and compelling and damn-near disasterous. Brilliantly portrayed and brilliantly told.
There’s a similar Alice Munro story, a mother loses touch with her daughter and sketches her ambivalence - it’s similarly affecting.
posted by From Bklyn at 3:17 PM on January 22, 2022 [1 favorite]
The top review on Letterboxd is “does for having kids what jaws did for sharks”
Remarkable film. Excellent double feature with Krisha. If you can stomach it.
posted by iamkimiam at 11:43 AM on September 17, 2022
Remarkable film. Excellent double feature with Krisha. If you can stomach it.
posted by iamkimiam at 11:43 AM on September 17, 2022
It is a film about an older woman developing a weird interest in a younger woman, which is neither sexual nor particularly related to jealousy over a guy. They're both tourists vacationing in Greece, and there's a fleeting sensation regarding the young man working at the poolbar, a particularly animated conversation that could be read as flirtatuous, a moment of maybe disappointment to find him entangled in an affair with the young woman - or maybe not disappointment, but rather a sense of recognition, a wistful, painful reminder of personal past transgressions. But that's not what packs the emotional punch.
The young woman has a child and and a sister-in-law highly pregnant with her first child at 42. I catch myself briefly thinking, oh, maybe I could have a child at 42; I'm turning 40 this year and in a self-flagellating mood about closing windows of opportunity, but maybe more because of the principle of the thing. At this point of the film, I'm also a bit projecting, thinking, oh, that's why the protagonist keeps staring at the young mother with the kid, she's regretting her own choice not to have any. This is of course a bit of a baseless projection; the protagonist is 47, at which point one probably would have made peace with that. Besides, she soon talks about her own two daughters in conversation, which are also shown in the flashbacks regularly interrupting the current stream of the narrative.
The flashbacks, however, are shrouded in a certain sense of forboding. Clearly, there is something to regret. It's not what I initially assumed watching the scenes of the young mother searching her kid on the Greek beach interspersed with scenes of the protagonist searching her own daughter on another beach in a flashback - but in its own way, sufficiently devastating.
The protagonist is a professor, a scholar of comparative literature. In flashbacks we see her quoted by the hot colleague she's crushing on, about the importance of attention. For her, hospitality (linguistic hospitality, she writes about translation) comes in holding attention, even in crisis. Hot colleague also quotes Simone Veil, about attention being the rarest and purest form of generosity.
But attention is a limited resource. How much attention can a mother give, with two little girls constantly tugging at her? Something, someone won't get enough. I'm reminded that I would make a pretty subpar mom; I react very badly to being interrupted in a train of thought; I find it easy to blend out my surroundings when absorbed in a matter of interest - I might be terribly neglectful, if insufficiently dutiful; or terribly resentful, if barely dutiful enough.
It's a struggle that clearly tears at the protagonist in all her flashbacks. The young mom in the current timeline seems to struggle too. Her jealous, short-tempered husband is frequently absent (and possibly involved in some shady activities), the daughter picks up on the tension and acts out a lot. When she loses her doll, she's inconsolable and the young mom's nerves start to fray more and more visibly.
I am turning 40, and I find myself getting strangely sentimental about young women at random moments. It's so weird to think about this idea men often express that the chief emotion one would feel is jealousy. I don't doubt it's a problem for some women (on a school trip with my class this spring, Letitia and Undine came to me to complain about a rude couple they had just encountered in the mall, the man had been leering at them and the woman called them slurs - I didn't know what to tell them; it seemed patronizing to say they didn't deserve it as if that needed saying, obviously they knew they didn't deserve it; so I just confirmed - this is so messed up, the nerve of some people! The nerve, I said, and the indignity, I thought, to fight over a guy who's leering at sixteen-year olds. And I shuddered internally, like one shudders at the thought of Carthaginians feeding children to Moloch, penitents wearing hairshirts to mortify the flesh, anchorites volunteering to be immured - alien compulsions of ages past) - but it's really just one of a million things one might feel! Wistfulness, sure (which is not the same as envy; you can't step into the same river twice; to feel nostalgic is to accept the loss), but also relief (I've been through that too! I made it out!), pity, protectiveness. Or simply recognition - that's who I was, who part of me still is.
I've just returned from a trip to Trieste; I went there alone, to meet up with friends eventually. But I had a day to kill on my own. That suited me well enough; I often like to do a bit more sight-seeing than my co-travelers and don't like feeling as if dragging people along - a good opportunity to book a guided walking tour. It was the middle of August, during a heat-wave - not a popular occasion for such activities; so it turned out to be a really small group, me, a young Spanish couple, and one other Austrian, a pretty girl with chestnut curls. She made me think of a Studio-Ghibli heroine: bright, curious eyes, oval face, gentle contours, dressed in a simple, practical outfit, comfortable shoes, ready for adventure. At the end of the tour, I asked the guide for further suggestions, and Chestnut Curls enthusiastically chimed in about her ferry-ride to Miramare. I could have asked her for details; I planned to go there too. But anyway, taking the bus would be faster, and I get quickly bored on boats, so I dropped the issue, and we parted ways. I immediately regretted it. I felt I would have enjoyed talking to her a bit longer, and for the rest of the day, I kept returning to that image of her amidst the serene splendor of the borgo theresiano, waiting for the tour to start in the still merciful morning light, before the sun would subjugate us under its full power.
So, what was this about? Obviously not about being a pretty girl with chestnut curls, which would not have described me at any point in history. But recognition, still. That’s who I was, who part of me still is. The urge to leave the group for a short private excursion, the thrill of independence - getting up earlier than everyone else, to make the most of the morning, the day wide-open, impossibly wide. I thought of a stroll at the beach at 18, a vacation in Croatia with friends, at that moment still asleep in the apartment we had rented. They had been sitting up late, drinking and talking, but this one evening, I had left them early, to rise early. I had wanted to see the sunrise.
The thrill of independence wears off – I’ve chosen a solitary life; I’ve started to take it for granted. But I had never been to Trieste before. It’s still an adventure. And I can still get up early in the morning. I should get up earlier more often.
posted by sohalt at 2:14 AM on August 22, 2024 [2 favorites]
The young woman has a child and and a sister-in-law highly pregnant with her first child at 42. I catch myself briefly thinking, oh, maybe I could have a child at 42; I'm turning 40 this year and in a self-flagellating mood about closing windows of opportunity, but maybe more because of the principle of the thing. At this point of the film, I'm also a bit projecting, thinking, oh, that's why the protagonist keeps staring at the young mother with the kid, she's regretting her own choice not to have any. This is of course a bit of a baseless projection; the protagonist is 47, at which point one probably would have made peace with that. Besides, she soon talks about her own two daughters in conversation, which are also shown in the flashbacks regularly interrupting the current stream of the narrative.
The flashbacks, however, are shrouded in a certain sense of forboding. Clearly, there is something to regret. It's not what I initially assumed watching the scenes of the young mother searching her kid on the Greek beach interspersed with scenes of the protagonist searching her own daughter on another beach in a flashback - but in its own way, sufficiently devastating.
The protagonist is a professor, a scholar of comparative literature. In flashbacks we see her quoted by the hot colleague she's crushing on, about the importance of attention. For her, hospitality (linguistic hospitality, she writes about translation) comes in holding attention, even in crisis. Hot colleague also quotes Simone Veil, about attention being the rarest and purest form of generosity.
But attention is a limited resource. How much attention can a mother give, with two little girls constantly tugging at her? Something, someone won't get enough. I'm reminded that I would make a pretty subpar mom; I react very badly to being interrupted in a train of thought; I find it easy to blend out my surroundings when absorbed in a matter of interest - I might be terribly neglectful, if insufficiently dutiful; or terribly resentful, if barely dutiful enough.
It's a struggle that clearly tears at the protagonist in all her flashbacks. The young mom in the current timeline seems to struggle too. Her jealous, short-tempered husband is frequently absent (and possibly involved in some shady activities), the daughter picks up on the tension and acts out a lot. When she loses her doll, she's inconsolable and the young mom's nerves start to fray more and more visibly.
I am turning 40, and I find myself getting strangely sentimental about young women at random moments. It's so weird to think about this idea men often express that the chief emotion one would feel is jealousy. I don't doubt it's a problem for some women (on a school trip with my class this spring, Letitia and Undine came to me to complain about a rude couple they had just encountered in the mall, the man had been leering at them and the woman called them slurs - I didn't know what to tell them; it seemed patronizing to say they didn't deserve it as if that needed saying, obviously they knew they didn't deserve it; so I just confirmed - this is so messed up, the nerve of some people! The nerve, I said, and the indignity, I thought, to fight over a guy who's leering at sixteen-year olds. And I shuddered internally, like one shudders at the thought of Carthaginians feeding children to Moloch, penitents wearing hairshirts to mortify the flesh, anchorites volunteering to be immured - alien compulsions of ages past) - but it's really just one of a million things one might feel! Wistfulness, sure (which is not the same as envy; you can't step into the same river twice; to feel nostalgic is to accept the loss), but also relief (I've been through that too! I made it out!), pity, protectiveness. Or simply recognition - that's who I was, who part of me still is.
I've just returned from a trip to Trieste; I went there alone, to meet up with friends eventually. But I had a day to kill on my own. That suited me well enough; I often like to do a bit more sight-seeing than my co-travelers and don't like feeling as if dragging people along - a good opportunity to book a guided walking tour. It was the middle of August, during a heat-wave - not a popular occasion for such activities; so it turned out to be a really small group, me, a young Spanish couple, and one other Austrian, a pretty girl with chestnut curls. She made me think of a Studio-Ghibli heroine: bright, curious eyes, oval face, gentle contours, dressed in a simple, practical outfit, comfortable shoes, ready for adventure. At the end of the tour, I asked the guide for further suggestions, and Chestnut Curls enthusiastically chimed in about her ferry-ride to Miramare. I could have asked her for details; I planned to go there too. But anyway, taking the bus would be faster, and I get quickly bored on boats, so I dropped the issue, and we parted ways. I immediately regretted it. I felt I would have enjoyed talking to her a bit longer, and for the rest of the day, I kept returning to that image of her amidst the serene splendor of the borgo theresiano, waiting for the tour to start in the still merciful morning light, before the sun would subjugate us under its full power.
So, what was this about? Obviously not about being a pretty girl with chestnut curls, which would not have described me at any point in history. But recognition, still. That’s who I was, who part of me still is. The urge to leave the group for a short private excursion, the thrill of independence - getting up earlier than everyone else, to make the most of the morning, the day wide-open, impossibly wide. I thought of a stroll at the beach at 18, a vacation in Croatia with friends, at that moment still asleep in the apartment we had rented. They had been sitting up late, drinking and talking, but this one evening, I had left them early, to rise early. I had wanted to see the sunrise.
The thrill of independence wears off – I’ve chosen a solitary life; I’ve started to take it for granted. But I had never been to Trieste before. It’s still an adventure. And I can still get up early in the morning. I should get up earlier more often.
posted by sohalt at 2:14 AM on August 22, 2024 [2 favorites]
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posted by Short Attention Sp at 8:05 PM on January 1, 2022