At the heart of the British drama “Anemone” lies a man who, despite his physical stature, casts an immense shadow over the entire film. This recluse, inhabiting a secluded woodland cottage, carries himself with a lean intensity and closely cropped hair that hint at a disciplined past, perhaps military. His every deliberate movement and posture betray an internal struggle, as if he’s constantly reining in something untamed. But his towering presence is primarily due to the actor embodying him: Daniel Day-Lewis. Eight years after famously declaring his retirement from acting at 60, Day-Lewis makes a long-awaited return to the silver screen.
“Anemone” marks Day-Lewis’s comeback, and it’s a deeply personal project, a true family affair. He co-wrote the screenplay with his son, Ronan Day-Lewis, who also directed the film. This visually striking, albeit imperfect, drama delves into themes of fatherhood, violence, emotional suffering, and love, set predominantly in contemporary Northern England. Day-Lewis portrays Ray, a former British soldier who vanished years ago, leaving behind even his pregnant wife. Ray’s profound reasons for retreating from society slowly unravel amidst intense emotional turmoil. The film occasionally punctuates its raw realism with surrealistic flourishes, yet it’s arguably most compelling when it leaves things unsaid.
The film opens with a subtle air of mystery. We’re introduced to Jem (Sean Bean), Ray’s brother, who makes a dramatic entrance on his motorcycle. He bids farewell to his anxious partner, Nessa (Samantha Morton), whose worried expression speaks volumes about her character—a hint at her limited dialogue and marginalized role. Inside, their son, Brian (Samuel Bottomley), is holed up in his room, his bruised knuckles and raw emotions telling their own story. Initial interactions are sparse, but as Jem reaches Ray’s isolated home and the alcohol flows, so too do the buried hurts and emotional wounds of everyone involved.
Ronan Day-Lewis, with his background as a painter, immediately captivates viewers through the striking clarity and profound beauty of his visuals. Unsurprisingly, his fine arts training makes him exceptionally attuned to light and color, and he masterfully conveys the emotional impact of natural landscapes. Many scenes appear to be filmed on overcast days, which allows certain colors—the vibrant forest greens, delicate white flowers, deep ocean blues, and even the blood red in some of Ray’s attire—to stand out with breathtaking intensity. Collaborating with cinematographer Ben Fordesman, Day-Lewis utilizes the widescreen format to transform minute details into powerful statements, simultaneously evoking the vastness of the world.
However, the film stumbles with some of the unexplained, almost hallucinatory visions that torment Ray. A pale, glowing, U-shaped creature with a humanoid face, abruptly introduced, feels out of place. While it’s a curious emblem whose form mirrors Ray’s frowning mustache (and has appeared in Ronan Day-Lewis’s other artistic works), its inclusion, along with other bizarre elements like a dreamy visitor or a monstrous fish, seems like an attempt to inject a Lynchian sense of mystery. The issue is that these surreal moments fail to meaningfully interact with, or penetrate, the fabric of the film’s otherwise realistic everyday life. Instead of enriching the narrative, these images simply serve as a distraction.
Once Jem settles into Ray’s home, the narrative gains momentum. Sean Bean and Daniel Day-Lewis prove to be a compelling duo, though Ray’s character offers significantly more depth. One senses Ray is a powder keg, destined to be ignited by Jem, and so, much like Jem, you watch and anticipate. Ray, with a face locked in barely contained contempt, maintains a formidable facade, lending him an intense edginess. (In a subtle detail, Ray doesn’t even offer his brother a bed, leaving him to sleep on the floor.) The two men cautiously circle each other, but as days turn into nights, they fall into a rhythm, their guard lowered by alcohol. Soon, Ray’s suppressed emotions erupt, his voice reverberating through the house, shaking its very foundations.
Undeniably, there’s immense joy in witnessing Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance. He is an actor of unparalleled sensitivity, possessing an almost mystical ability to portray a character’s inner world, from the most delicate nuances to the most profound violence. However, as “Anemone” progresses, the sheer power of his acting inadvertently exposes the shortcomings of the script. Ray, the character, gradually loses his hold on the audience’s imagination, even as Day-Lewis’s captivating portrayal remains unwavering. While not a fatal flaw, the film’s descent from Ray’s initial stoicism and quiet intensity into predictable volcanic outbursts, painful revelations, and generic family-drama tropes feels overly familiar. It suggests the filmmaker may not fully appreciate that Day-Lewis’s brand of acting delves into the ineffable—a mystery potent enough on its own.
Anemone is rated R for strong language and disturbing thematic content. It has a running time of 2 hours and 1 minute and is currently showing in theaters.