The Eternal Daughter (2022)

Introspective and slowly plotted, The Eternal Daughter is a sort of ghost story featuring very few (if any) supernatural elements. Instead, the movie employs genre elements from gothic ghost stories to explore the way we're haunted by memory and our relationship with the past and those we've known. To clarify, none of the "genre elements" are used to evoke fear: this isn't trying to frighten us, but rather pull us into an ephemeral state of being where the line between reality and imagination is blurred. Depending on whether you find yourself on this movie's wavelength, you're either going to find all this deeply moving or about as boring as a pile of rocks. 

To be perfectly honest, I think my experience was a bit of both.

I don't say that as criticism. The Eternal Daughter is a gorgeous, evocative film centered around two phenomenal performances, both from Tilda Swinton (more on this in a bit). I think this is a successful, artistic work that achieves what it sets out to do. But what it's doing doesn't involve a lot happening on screen. If you're the sort of person who's easily bored by that kind of movie, you'll be better off avoiding it. If you're open to it, this is absolutely worth watching.... Just make sure you're in the right mood (I probably wasn't).

The movie's holiday's credentials are less overt than American viewers are used to - I went back and forth on whether I thought it counted as a Christmas movie before settling on the affirmative. Even then, it's a label I'd affix only with a number of disclaimers and addendums, starting with when the movie's set.

With a handful of very specific exceptions, I'm a believer movies set around Christmas should be considered Christmas movies. The Eternal Daughter challenges this a bit by establishing that the bulk of its runtime occurs in late November, raising the question of just what the phrase "around Christmas" means. If this were an American movie, I'd look to whether or not its proximity to Thanksgiving was highlighted, whether Christmas was treated as a conceptual target throughout, and how prevalent holiday decorations were. But this isn't a US production, and until the movie jumps forwards at the very end to Christmas, there aren't any decorations (and only one passing reference to the holiday). This isn't a film with a narrative centered on or moving towards Christmas.

That time jump was the deciding factor, by the way. It's not so much that there's a scene set at Christmas as what this reveals about the tradition the movie wants to be associated with: this is intended to be a Christmas ghost story, which remains popular in the United Kingdom, where this was produced and filmed.

That connection isn't only intended to tie this back to the genre, though it certainly has that effect. It also connects the movie to themes of familial connections, the passage of time, and the cycle of death and rebirth. All of these feature in the movie's narrative, though before we discuss any of that....

Okay, this spoiler warning is probably unnecessary for a couple reasons, but I'm providing it anyway. I don't think knowing the plot of this is going to impact your experience at all, nor will knowing the twist. I feel secure in that, because - trust me - you're going to figure it out the moment I describe the premise. I don't even think it's meant to be a surprise: the movie signals where it's heading in its setup. The reveal, to the limited extent the word applies at all, is in how the veil is lifted, who knew what, and the impact of the emotional catharsis. All that's a feature of cinematography, direction, acting, and editing: stuff that's not going to be spoiled by a reveal.

But this still technically features structural elements of a twist ending, so if you want to pretend you're surprised, stop reading now.

Ahem. Here's the premise: a filmmaker brings her elderly mother to a gothic hotel from her mother's past in the hopes of learning more about her mother and writing a script exploring their relationship. Both the woman and her mother are played by Tilda Swinton.

There. That thing you're assuming is right. That's the reveal at the end. The movie barely even bothers hiding it, because - again - the point isn't to shock you, at least not in the way you're expecting. It's more to build tension around a revelation you'll be anticipating from the start.

The filmmaker is Julie, and her mother is Rosalind. Visually, there's not much of a difference between them, aside from their hair. Swinton gives the mother different affectations and movement, but not to the level you'd expect: the performance and makeup difference is subtle. All this is intentional, and it all pays off.

Other than Swinton, there are only a handful of additional characters, only two of which are more than bit parts. Those are employees of the hotel: a young receptionist who seems perpetually annoyed by Julie, and Bill, an elderly widower who's sympathetic to Julie's goals and situation.

As the movie progresses, Julie interviews her mother and learns more and more about her past with the hotel. She was brought there during the war, and the place holds difficult memories connected to losing family. Rosalind also associates it with losing a child. Julie expresses remorse at having brought her mother back here, but Rosalind insists she's grateful, despite the painful memories the place evokes.

Eventually, Julie celebrates her mother's birthday in the hotel restaurant, where the receptionist acts as a server. Julie and Rosalind argue, and Rosalind insists she isn't hungry. Finally, the receptionist brings a cake as Julie berates her for not following her instructions perfectly. When Rosalind is unable to blow out the candle, Julie does so, and as the flame is extinguished it's revealed Julie is alone. A flashback reveals Rosalind - who appears far older than she ever did in the movie - passed away before the movie began.

We soon jump ahead to Christmas as decorations are going up and guests are present (until now, the hotel has seemed completely empty). Everything is brighter than before, colors are more vibrant, and there are sounds of animals and life. Julie, having finished her script, checks out, pausing to speak with the receptionist, who expresses genuine concern for her wellbeing. Likewise, she thanks Bill before leaving. The movie ends as she rides away.

Outside of the ending, the movie largely skips the usual tricks for having Swinton talking with herself. The dinner is the only scene I recall employing a split screen, and if they ever employed a double (outside of a hand coming in from off-screen) I didn't notice. For the most part, the movie simply shoots each character individually as they talk to each other from across a room. Depending on how you're feeling this can either come off as refreshingly straightforward or a bit too much like an old TV show.

Until the end, virtually everything about the film is sparse, focusing on open, empty spaces and a sense of loneliness. It's not at all surprising this was made during the Covid lockdowns, though it's worth noting writer/director Joanna Hogg does a fantastic job turning this forced seclusion into an asset. You can, of course, view the movie as a metaphor for the pandemic and hope for the future (that dynamic is certainly part of the subtext), but themes around memory and connections to the past feel more significant.

It's worth noting the holidays tie into those themes but not the narrative. Christmas is connected with family, nostalgia, and memory, as well as new beginnings associated with the New Year and the solstice. However the movie sets its climax on Rosalind's birthday in either late November or early December, rather than Christmas Eve. It's an interesting choice that suits the movie's grounded tone.

Speaking of grounded, Rosalind presumably exists as a figment of Julie's imagination, making her a ghost only in the figurative sense. I say "presumably" to allow a little room for interpretation and dramatic license around revelations about Rosalind's past. I interpreted these as either recordings Julie is listening to (she's often "recording" these and could just ask easily be replaying old recordings), memories, or her figuring out or imagining aspects of her mother's past. That said, there's no reason you couldn't view this through a different lens.

Likewise, there are a couple occasions when Julie seems to see a ghastly apparition in one of windows, though her lack of a strong reaction implies she certainly believes these are in her imagination. The form does look a lot like her mother in the flashback, so you could conclude this is literally her mother's ghost.

Ultimately, whether the cause of Julie's haunting is mundane or supernatural is beside the point. The movie is interested in the effect of that haunting and the profound power of places, memory, and emotion. In a real sense, the genre and tradition are reflective of Julie's internal journey and the themes of the film. 

It's an interesting use of the ghost story motif. I also can't stress enough how beautifully shot this is: the movie almost makes you believe you can feel the cold, damp fog. Likewise, the Gothic statuary enhances the sense of the supernatural. 

I really wish I'd been in a better mood when I sat down to watch this. I enjoyed it well enough, but probably not as much as it deserves. It's an incredible film, but the pacing asks a great deal from the viewer: this is, after all, ultimately a ghost story without ghosts where nothing really happens. If you've got the attention span for that, I absolutely recommend watching this. If not, you'll probably want to stay away. 

As as final note, if you've really got the attention span for a long night, this would pair extremely well with Spencer, another modern take on the British Christmas ghost story focusing on psychological complexity rather than magic. Both are fantastic dramas, but I wouldn't suggest them to anyone hoping for something exciting or thrilling.