Andrew Haigh has shown his talent for exploring the deepest recesses of human relationships with humour, candour and warmth in Weekend and 45 Years, but with his adaptation of Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel Strangers, he has found something so poignant and affecting that it will reach even into the depths of the hardest human soul.
Haigh takes the bare bones of Yamada’s story and transfers them to the UK, where Adam (Andrew Scott) lives in an almost deserted apartment block, disturbed only by the sound of a fire alarm dragging him away from his latest session of writer’s block. He’s paid a visit by the dwelling’s only other occupant Harry (Paul Mescal), who is looking to liven up their drab lives, but Adam rebuffs his initial advances.
Adam then pays a visit to his childhood home, where he was raised initially by his late parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell). When he arrives, not only is the house unchanged since the time Adam spent there with them, they appear to be living in the house, aware that their son is now a grown adult but with only the knowledge of their lives together and nothing of the future beyond the accident that tore the family apart.
We are never given any explanation for quite how Adam can interact with his parents, or quite how they have such specific knowledge of their situation. Are they ghosts? An attempt to process his repressed grief through his writing? Something more sinister? Thankfully, as with all the best films in this fantasy subgenre – Groundhog Day being a case in point – questioning why it’s happening would be fruitless, we’re here only to understand the transformative consequences of what’s come to pass.
For Adam, this is a chance to examine a relationship he barely knew, but also the opportunity to explore fundamental questions of his own identity. Even in the present, when gradually getting to know Harry, Adam struggles to put comfortable labels on his own sexuality even as he feels comfortable within it. His coming out proves a particular shock to his mother, Claire Foy delicately encapsulating that sense of middle-class surprise that suggests she doesn’t quite know which mental box to place her son in any longer. What about those adverts with the tombstone on, she asks? Is that a thing anymore?
Haigh does a wonderfully measured job of contrasting 80s attitudes with those in the present day; how much has shifted for the better but also where those subtleties combined with old bigotries and biases still linger. For anyone who didn’t live through that era, it may seem implausible that even a general tolerance and understanding of anything other than heterosexuality was so hard to come by then; Adam’s parents do their best to be supportive, but his father in particular is required to confront his own failings and his inability to form a constructive emotional bond.
The director’s earlier film Weekend was one of the best relationship dramas of the past decade, a British spin on Richard Linklater’s Before… films, and his subsequent work has also shown a remarkable gracefulness for the intimacy of relationships. In parallel with Adam’s processing of his sexuality and his grief with his parents are his attempt to open up emotionally with Harry sufficiently for the two of them to become closer. Paul Mescal comes armed with a fluffy moustache and a cheeky charm, but Adam’s deep-rooted isolation need time to heal sufficiently for these bonds to form. Other directors could learn from how natural and tender Haigh makes these scenes of personal discovery.
Even his parents then begin to wonder if Harry’s visits are actually helping or harming in the long term. Themes of identity and mortality are universal, but rarely are they dearly with as confidently as they are here, Haigh allowing the pain to unfold gradually and to give us time to process in the same way that Adam needs that time. Jamie Ramsay, who was also cinematographer for last year’s similarly tender and poignant Living, works well with some of the darker lighting that supports Adam’s journey into self-discovery and the comfort and healing that come with it.
The contrast to the 80s setting also allows for some classics on the soundtrack, and in particular two Frankie Goes to Hollywood tracks that frame key moments. While decorating the Christmas tree, Mum and Dad sing along to their cover of Always on My Mind, a simple moment of heartbreaking truth. But it’s the use of The Power of Love to open and close the film that becomes quietly devastating, and Haigh’s film goes beyond being achingly beautiful to tap into a raw emotional power rarely matched.
All of us Strangers is a stunning achievement that should stand the test of time as one of the great films about love, grief, and loss.
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