The past haunts Emily, who carries the guilt of tragedies that struck early in her life. A youth camp, her father suggests, might offer a fresh start—looking after children and finding redemption in the midst of nature. She is warmly welcomed by a group of counsellors she quickly grows close to, but a voice from the bushes urges her to leave.
Every now and then a film comes along that makes me want to rescue the term lynchian from the machiavellian clutches of the film bros. But when I say lynchian, I don’t want you to think of a mere imitation. I want you to think of a film where you never quite set foot on solid ground. Where you feel yourself floating through it, as if the film were made for your subconscious. As soon as it begins, you find yourself in a space that isn’t your own; it’s intimate, and you feel like an observer, yet you can’t help but watch. Avalon Fast creates this formal mechanism to allow us to experience the same kind of somnambulism as her main character. Emily is going through a tough time; she’s in mourning, and life is passing her by. We should all join Emily, perhaps going through a tough time ourselves, but with the wisdom that together we’ll get better. Even if it means joining a sisterhood and performing some rituals, a small price to pay for therapy. (Rui Mendes)
