Mothering Sunday

Set in the British countryside in the years between WWI and WWII, Mothering Sunday tells the story of Jane Fairchild (Odessa Young, Shirley) in three stages: her adolescence as a maid in the midst of a secret affair with a man with class status far above her own; her adulthood as an author living with her philosopher husband Donald (Sope Dirisu, His House); and a brief scene of her later life as an award-winning author (played by none other than Glenda Jackson). The blending of these three stages ably elucidates why Jane decides to become a writer.  

Directed by French filmmaker Eva Husson, Mothering Sunday is beautifully shot, likely a reflection of the writing style of Graham Swift’s source novella, or perhaps the writing style of Jane herself. Husson lingers on the minute details — eventually to a fault, though it’s charming for a while. In one scene, a shaft of light highlights the diaphanous hair of the naked protagonist after an afternoon tryst with her secret lover, Paul Sheringham (Josh O’Connor, aka Prince Charles from The Crown); in another scene, Jane — again nude — delicately runs a finger along the spines of the many books in the Sheringhams’ vast library.

Dominated by classical string arrangements, Morgan Kibby’s score also plays a prominent role. Her music solidifies the film’s melancholy mood long before the plot catches up enough, revealing that seemingly everyone is dealing with the casualties of the recent war in his or her own silent way, mourning the loss of the many young men who died in the war. 

Yet despite all of the positive accolades above, Mothering Sunday is agonizingly slow and demure in its exhibition of emotions — and no amount of beauty in scenery and song can compensate for that shortcoming. While the film seems to want to paint the affair as a passionate one, it instead feels mostly lukewarm. And while the tragedy of the loss of so many young men covers many of the characters in a veil of sadness, their emotions are  largely watered down and muted. These are no doubt intentional choices, but viewers are left wondering why there’s such a lack of truly exhibited passion or overtly stated grief. 

Grade: C-plus. Rated R. Now playing at the Fine Arts Theatre

(Photo: Sony Pictures Classics)