Enys Men (2022)

Day 6 of Sobriety.

Enys Men depicts the experiences of a woman who has volunteered to conduct an observational study of rare flora on an isolated and seemingly completely uninhabited island off the coast of Cornwall. While doing this, she begins to have strange experiences, including what could be hallucinations or visions (or perhaps just memories?).

The film is frequently described as "folk horror"—a sub-genre of which I consider myself to be quite a fan. The more I read about the film (and heard about it on a BBC radio special on folk horror that focused heavily on it), the more my interest was piqued—not least by the polarized viewer reviews and opinions that I read. It seemed to always get either one star or ten. The fact that its critics almost unanimously derided it because "absolutely nothing happens!" only served to stimulate my interest further, as I often tend to like what can be termed "trance movies"—films that require us to adjust to their somnambulistic tempo, and draw us into another world in the process. The films of Jean Rollin would be a good example, and Panos Cosmatos' Beyond the Black Rainbow (and Mandy too, I suppose).

My anticipation of Enys Men was sufficient for me to order the blu-ray almost as soon as it became available—something very rare for me, as I tend to wait until things become cheaper. I was, therefore, quite disappointed when, eagerly watching the film on the very day it was delivered, I found myself grudgingly agreeing with many of the film’s critics.

It has an interesting archaic look that is appropriate to its 1973 setting. It was shot on 16 mm film, replete with various imperfections, scratches, color flares, and a narrow aspect ratio. I was put in mind of the look of the fake Bulgarian horror film film in Antrum (2018), and had wrongly assumed, until I learned otherwise, that the flawed, dated look of Enys Men had probably been achieved artificially through digital effects. The soundtrack, too, is quite minimal, scratchy and analogue-y, and as the film’s detractors and advocates are both wont to point out, there are only a few sparse lines of dialogue in the entire running time.

It just didn't really click with me, though, and I actually found myself becoming bored and frustrated while I was watching it. Indeed—on the surface at least—not much happens, and my mind was constantly wandering to other things (mostly current personal sources of stress and anxiety). But that is probably largely my own problem. You might expect that it should be easier to concentrate on things when sober, but I find that without the suppressing effect of alcohol, my monkey-mind can get very restless indeed. Of course, even with the sedative effects of booze, it eventually refuses to stay focused too, so I can't win either way. I hope that gets better.

Anyway, what does actually happen in the film? That's hard to say, because it seems to be largely about what takes place in one woman's inner world, or maybe in the past—both in her memory and the memory of the island itself. Or something like that? For the most part the film presents this in a very subtle ambiguous way. We see the woman going about her repetitive mundane routine on the island, and that routine is increasingly disrupted by what might be visions, or maybe just thoughts and memories...or ghosts? We get a lot of languid shots of the barren and beautiful natural surroundings and the woman's day-to-day—from afar and in close up. The sea. A rock. A kettle. A gull. A wall. The sky. A slug. Socks. The periodic intrusion of the bizarre visions or experiences are sometimes very abrupt and shocking, almost like a jump-scare.

And then the film ends. And it was only after the film had ended, and I was watching the blu-ray bonus interview with director Mark Jenkin and actress Mary Woodvine that I started to wonder whether I should be disappointed in the film, or in myself. They discussed some of the film's subtly-presented meanings and implications, which apparently are not entirely clear even to those who made it. That might seem almost absurd when talking about a movie, but not necessarily. I think artists probably often don't clearly know exactly what it is that they are trying to express, and Enys Men is definitely an "art film." The interviewer (Mark Kermode) mentioned that he noticed and understood much more in film with repeated viewings, and I can believe that. It could be that—as is not uncommon—my opportunity to really appreciate the film for what it is was defeated from the outset by my own anticipation and expectations. I will certainly revisit the film in the future, and I hope that I will be able to come to a better appreciation of it.