From award-winning sound mixer and producer Cory Choy comes Esme, My Love, his feature-length debut. Described as a slow-burn drama, it focuses on the relationship between mum Hannah (Stacey Weckstein) and daughter Esme (Audrey Grace Marshall); heading to the woods, ostensibly for a camping vacation. It’s something of a nostalgia trip for Hannah, also being the location of her grandparents’ now abandoned house, where much of her childhood was spent.

A reluctant Esme eventually joins her breathlessly enthused parent in the standard array of camping activities, during which Hannah displays a strange obsession; rummaging in the soil, repeatedly exclaiming “we have to dig!” and speaking frequently of ‘Emily,’ whom it’s implied either is/was her sister, or a friend from childhood from whom she was inseparable. Her insistent urging to dig she means quite literally, unearthing buried objects from the past, where she seems helplessly stuck; her efforts turning up various items which she regards with joy or melancholy dismay by turns.

After a night in the abandoned house, during which enthusiasm for an ancient jar of preserved peaches backfires, making the pair sick, they continue with their trek. Hannah’s demeanour, strange already, begins to slowly but steadily spiral away from reality into a spiritual, paganistic trance, including visions of a young girl who can only be the by now obviously long departed Emily.

Esme, already alarmed by what seems to be her mother’s increasing descent into madness, discovers an odd journal which references not only the past, but their very own present. When she herself starts experiencing horrifying manifestations and Hannah exhibits signs of primal violence, the young girl cracks, demanding to know the truth; leaving Hannah no choice but to explain. And Esme isn’t the only confused one.

I won’t lie, folks; Esme, My Love, though both captivating and aesthetically beautiful, is enigmatic to the hilt. The only thing I was sure about was the certainty of a traumatic event in Hannah’s past, resulting in her permanent state of wistful detachment; an aura of such infinite sadness that it’s impossible not to feel pity. The ambiguity during the opening sequence is typical of the entire film; if you’re hoping it’ll make more sense as it goes along then you’re out of luck, because it just gets curiouser and curiouser, to quote Alice in Wonderland.

With a darkly surreal, dreamlike narrative and rapid, hallucinatory scene switches, there’s definitely echoes of Alice’s world here. Long spells of serenity stretch out, only to be pierced with the aural equivalent of a well-executed jumpscare; the score playing a massive role. The expertise of this in scenes which may otherwise have relied on visuals for similar impact is highly impressive.

Though there’s much technical skill to salute, as a whole Esme, My Love quite simply doesn’t make enough sense to deliver what it’s clearly capable of. It weaves an enchanting spell, but too much is left unanswered, with the focus on mystique and magic taking over to the detriment of any real clarity.  A film which gets the mind working is often a winner up to a point, but balance is a factor, especially when the viewer finds even the fundamental elements undefined; maybe I’m just a dumbass, but I didn’t realise about Esme’s illness and its significance until nearly the end. That being said, there’s a genuinely unsettling tone to the whole movie which in spite of the confusion left me feeling suitably creeped out.

4 out of 10 Amorphous Ambiguities