MY MOTHER'S WEDDING

There once began a tale of three sisters: each alike in dignity, yet distinct, all their own. A family, fractured to temperament, distance, time; reunited only by matters of familial gathering, physical proximity. Such begins My Mother’s Wedding, the long-awaited directorial debut of BAFTA darling Kristin Scott Thomas. Inspired by her own family dynamic—two lost father figures, the impact of which rippled long into adult reckoning—Thomas’ debut explores the depths of her own psyche, capturing a character-driven snapshot into the veracity of adult relationships, generational expectations, and familial strain. Though the slice-of-life approach she takes may, at times, appear unfocused—the unfortunate side effect of one scribing their own tale—so, too, is it drenched in warmth, recalled nostalgia, thus resolving to a promise of reconciliation, a lingering optimism that coats any rough edges into a palatable saccharine.

At times, a burgeoning inconsistency intersects between the interactions. We’re told that Katherine North (Scarlett Johansson), first female captain of a naval aircraft vessel, is a bristled figure unwilling to open her heart to those she loves. Seldom, however, do her actions align with such characterization. As the bookend of the narrative, her persona is prioritized over those of ‘Famous American Actress’ Victoria (Sienna Miller)—yes, a verbatim on-screen label—or infidelity-scorned nurse Georgina (Emily Beecham). Perhaps it is that Thomas-gleaned veracity, some rose-tinted recollection, that has the siblings coldly rolling their eyes at the others’ mention one moment, then jovially dancing hand-in-hand the next. Still, such hot-and-cold interactions leave it difficult to entirely grasp the dynamic between the trio—to say nothing of their perception of their mother, nor the new beau recently adorning her next chapter. Curiously, the titular ‘mother’s wedding’ is spared but a thought in the chronology of the narrative. Appearing significantly earlier than one might narratively anticipate—it is not a locale of conflict, nor catharsis, but instead, a first-act set piece—little time is spent examining the siblings’ reaction to the new father figure entering their lives. One almost wishes that these character dynamics were better understood before the wedding; without sufficient buildup—of tension, expectation—the titular moment fails to elicit the emphasis one might anticipate.

One wonders, perhaps, why the title of the project was changed to revolve around such an event. Though Diana’s nuptials are the what ultimately bring the central trio into proximity, the film’s beating heart revolves around the reckoning of a fractured family: idolization in the face of grief, (re-)discovery of one’s self; qualities that, both in and out of cinematic context, seldom intersect with such a joyous moment. Though the wedding may act as one setting, it is not, in some ironic twist, the film’s primary focus. “North Star”—the title by which the project had previously been introduced, upon its 2023 Toronto International Film Festival premiere—seems perhaps a safer choice, if only to mitigate one’s expectation as to what the central conceit of the film may be.

Throughout the film, conversational snippets—particularly in the opening act—appear unusually opaque: exposition, weighty in delivery, clouds dialogue in a manner somewhat jarring to the viewer, providing an air that is more unnervingly explanatory than vocally natural. Yes, dialogue can, and oft is, seen to be a tool through which to trickle exposition. That said, when every second sentence provides a literal description of one’s goals, their traits, their history, each line begins to feel less a naturalistic glimpse into human interaction, but instead, a vessel scripted solely to directly present information. Character backstories are not seeded, but wholly explored in lengthy monologues; tales of former flames feel more like lists than levity. Psychologically, the human mind craves not answer, but solution: the ability to connect abstract concepts and come to one’s own conclusions. Presenting exposition in this way—opaque; direct; as if accompanied by a blinding, emphatic light—not only pulls one from the narrative, but provides a semblance of psychological dissatisfaction that, at times, dampens the film.

That said, the vast majority of these qualms are relegated to the earliest act. Once the titular ‘mother’s wedding’ comes to pass, each subsequent character reckoning finds significantly stronger purchase. Slice-of-life meandering gives way to conflict, depth, debate: watching the sisters push-and-pull provides the grounds for stellar character work. Each sibling shines in their respective spotlight, distinct as they challenge their own personal—and compellingly colourful—woes. It all comes to a head with a truly stellar monologue from none other than Thomas herself: a showstopping moment that catalyzes the climax, forcing each of her three daughters to confront their views in a gorgeous fit of passion. “I brought you up to be women, not just daughters,” she waxes. As she challenges each child’s rose-tinted recollections, reconciling nostalgia with a long-forgotten truth, she challenges us, the audience, to similarly contextualize our own memories: the loving; the painful; the true. “Don’t you dare blame the past,” the matriarch reminds us. “Let go of the children you once were, and pay attention [to the present].” The past, she claims, may guide our actions—but never should it dictate each decision. Though we may hold warmth, remembrance in our hearts, so, too, must we forge forward into the new day. It’s a powerful moment, one that stands out as the highlight in the glorious latter act—for here, we see Thomas’s soul bared, the lessons she has learned spurned forward for the world to see.

So, too, is there a nostalgia-tinged simplicity to the film, one that bathes the debut in an openly inviting glow. Perhaps this is, in part, due to the Disney-esque animated segments that intersect Johansson’s individual reflections; captivating in their monochromatic style, the thick-lined sketches present a visual offering of traumatic recollection—and, perhaps, analogize the very act of healing. Layered overtop Rolfe Kent’s stunningly-swelling—and distinctly moving—score, the scenes acquire absolute effectivity. The singularity of this aesthetic, the fizzy warmth of its atmosphere, captivates throughout; gauzy lighting, floral set dressing, simply contribute to the appeal. On a purely technical basis, it is simply a stunning work of art.

Like any good art, its emotive heart propels a weighty force. Interpersonal dynamics, character relationships, unresolved trauma: the qualities that comprise My Mother’s Wedding are ubiquitous, familiarity enhancing the impact of the film’s defining moments. It is a character study, at its heart, and an effective one, at that; it is when it hones in on the interiority of its daughter-trio that the film is at its strongest. Though its focus may waver in its earliest moments—much of which may be traced back to Thomas’s sheer closeness to the subject, an emphasis, though well-intentioned, on veracity over narrative embellishment—My Mother’s Wedding is still a film that, by the time its credits roll, can’t help but elicit such genuine warmth. Its thematic resonance, its classic British charm, coalesce into a captivating, and pleasingly snappy, debut: one which, at only 95 minutes, will certainly garner much commercial appeal. It’s evident that Thomas put not only her heart, but her entire being into the crafting of this project, and the fidelity of such an act ripples far beyond the silver screen. Life, after all, is seldom flawless; what matters is perspective, and seeking the glimmers in a world in which perfection is overrated. My Mother’s Wedding, it seems, is simply a wonderful reflection of such.