Swimming Home: Review. By Joe Muldoon.

Baking orange sun, sculpted bronze torsos, and aquamarine pool water; I could be referring to any of the films that likely came to mind upon reading that. And just as in La Piscine and The Swimmer, there’s plenty of each of those. Based upon Deborah Levy’s novel of the same name, directorial debutant Justin Anderson’s surreal Swimming Home is a meandering, confusing, and ultimately difficult watch.

In this picture, Isabel (Mackenzie Davis) and Joe (Christopher Abbott) arrive home to find a naked woman (Kitti, played by Ariane Labed) floating in their holiday villa’s swimming pool. Not to be too alarmed by such an everyday occurrence, upon being informed that she’s a friend of a friend (Vito, played by Anastasios Alexandropoulos), Isabel invites the woman to stay.

Kitti’s presence in the villa brings strain for some and comfort for others. Joe is a poet whose work draws from vaguely alluded-to memories of the Bosnian war, and Kitti begins to read his work and cite it back to him. Despite his history of infidelity, the poet finds himself oddly repelled by the attractive and flirtatious visitor, unnerved by her behaviour. Joe and Isabel’s 15-year-old daughter Nina (Freya Hannan-Mills, whose performance is a highlight despite her being underutilised), however, spends much time with the newcomer, compelled by her oddness.

Tension gradually sets in between the holidaying family, their friends, and Kitti, and relationship cracks show and strains tighten painfully. Visually, Swimming Home is delightful. Simos Sarketzis’ cinematography captures the warmth of a Greek summer day beautifully, the sun-kissed hues and rays of light giving an almost dreamlike quality to the film. Interspersed throughout are mysterious shots of contemporary avant-garde dances, all watched over by Isabel.

Their eroticism is matched by the shots of nude men and women dotted around, yet despite their overt sensual nature, they scarcely feel sexy as they should. But it’s not with the visual landscape that this falls short – it’s the writing. To be sure, there are moments of intrigue –its ending being the most notable– but they’re sadly not enough to save the day. Davis, Abbott, Labed, and Hannan-Mills are all accomplished performers, but their abilities are somewhat restrained by the lacklustre material.

By the time the credits roll, you’ll probably be wondering what Swimming Home is really about. And I’m not particularly left caring enough to find out.

By Joe Muldoon

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