Supernova: remembering me as I was
2021; Elsevier BV; Volume: 20; Issue: 12 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1016/s1474-4422(21)00320-3
ISSN1474-4465
Autores Tópico(s)Gamma-ray bursts and supernovae
Resumo“You are not supposed to mourn someone while they are still alive”, says Tusker, exposing the painful reality of coping with terminal illness. Despite a heartfelt intention to live in the present, to make the best of every moment, the unspoken certainty of an imminent (and sometimes premature) death creates this oppressive threat, like a storm cloud impossible to escape. Fears are always looming overhead. In Harry Macqueen's film Supernova, Tusker (Stanley Tucci) has been diagnosed with early-onset dementia, and his long-term partner Sam (Colin Firth) has resolutely claimed his role as lover and carer until the very end. The whole premise of this film is unavoidably emotional—dementia is now relatable for so many—but writer-director Macqueen has not made a gritty and untidy drama, but more of a (bitter) sweet romcom played out in tragic circumstances. Supernova opens in a campervan; the couple are driving north through the beautiful, unpopulated expansive English landscape, revisiting spots that belong to their shared past. Tusker is the passenger, Sam the driver, and there is also Ruby the dog (who initially plays a small part, but will no doubt feature more as a soon-to-be needed companion for Sam). Later in the film, Tusker states, “I am becoming a passenger, and I am not a passenger”, referencing loss of independence as the antithesis of who he really is. “You need me”, replies Sam. “Exactly”, is Tusker's response. The performances of Firth and Tucci are commendable and credible. They seem well matched, you believe in them as a couple with a familiar dynamic of bickering and affection that never becomes unpleasant. As Sam drives the van, tension builds (but only to a point) while the onerous conversations are left unsaid. Are they lost? Can Tusker still read a map? Are they heading in the right direction? Is there a plan? Drawing these parallels between the physical and metaphorical journey seems to fit with the plot: simmering tensions are created in the shadows of playful banter as the reluctant intrepid duo approach roads not yet travelled. Until those conversations can be had, communication is felt more than spoken in the silences, the small gestures, the touch, the glance. Much of the drama focusses on nuance—small twitches of the face revealing flashes of pain, weariness, sadness, fear, and both Firth and Tucci do this very well. Tusker is still lucid, he has moments of forgetting and some confusion, but the inference is that his symptoms have already started, and that this trip is a “last chance saloon” scenario for the terrible truth to be confronted. In the few days the viewer travels with Tusker and Sam, they come to understand the nature of the tender relationship between the couple. Musician Sam, an English middle-class academic type, stoic and considerate, fearful of the unknown and of being alone. Tusker, the creative writer from the “other side of the pond”, gentle and strong, unable to continue his half-finished book, but incapable of confessing to Sam that he can't write anymore. Their small campervan is now their home, as they downsize their life into a space that can no longer house their dance of avoidance—danced for as long as possible because, as Tusker asks, “who would want to start mourning before life is physically taken from the body?” Here the film becomes limited. It doesn't seem to want to get messy, to stray into a territory where emotions become too unreasonable or unresolvable. There are big conversations, with poignant observations about agency and identity, and how the transition from knowing that you are losing self and then not recognising the loss, or who you are at all, affects you, the person with dementia, and those who love (and lost) you. “You're still you, the guy he fell in love with”, Sam tells Tusker. “No, I'm not, I just look like him. Which is a shame”, Tusker retorts. Supernova asks: When do you stop being you? Always an interesting debate, but unsurprisingly there is no academic or emotional interest in going further, because it is just not that kind of film. There is enough to pique the viewer's interest and pull on heart strings, but Macqueen stops short of showing the cruelty of the rapid decline in early-onset dementia in his character—the viewer must imagine the future, as must Tusker and Sam. The astronomical phenomenon of a supernova and stargazing seem to absorb Tusker's thoughts more and more, but if there is an analogous connection between dying stars and ruminations on his own life and death, it is too tenuous, so perhaps this subplot is simply a nod to the unimaginable, or unknowable—the infinite space of the galaxy and the tiny particles that create life as we know it. Or perhaps the stars and the skies connect Tusker and Sam, infinitely. Supernova Written and Directed by Harry Macqueen 2021, 93 mins Supernova Written and Directed by Harry Macqueen 2021, 93 mins
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