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I came into this world eyes crossed, the small tip of my nose made bow. The moment my spine steadied and my words arrived, I\u00a0took a\u00a0seat on a\u00a0low stool, cheeks squished by the chin rest, and looked right into the bowels of an iron machine. There, a\u00a0small red boat floated across the sea, the sky melting into the water below. It was as if the world had lost its edges, the steadying bearings of reality engulfed by an inescapable vortex of\u00a0blue.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A strikingly similar image marks the halfway point of Mark Jenkin\u2019s\u00a0<\/span>Rose of Nevada<\/i>. The titular red and white fishing boat sits in the middle of the ocean as the water gently lulls its metal carcass, the placidity that surrounds it evoking a\u00a0deep sense of dread. There was a\u00a0time when folk believed the boat would never again bring fish home, but life has its mysteries and returns the Rose of Nevada to the harbour from where it left 30<\/span>\u00a0years\u00a0prior.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When the boat went missing, Nick (George MacKay) was still a\u00a0few years away from being born. By the time the strange vessel returns home, he has a\u00a0small daughter, a\u00a0wife he adores, and a\u00a0leaking hole in his roof. Strapped for money in a\u00a0dilapidated Cornish village where work is scarce, the young man takes a\u00a0job as a\u00a0helping hand on the Rose of Nevada alongside recently arrived Liam (Callum Turner) and hardened sea dog Murgey (Francis Magee). But something\u2019s still not quite right about the boat, and while the harbour from which they sail is in the present, when they return a\u00a0few days later with a\u00a0bountiful catch, Nick and Liam find themselves in 1993<\/span> and inexplicably presumed by the village to be Luke and Alan \u2013 the Rose\u2019s original deckhands.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A Mark Jenkin film is a\u00a0cracking cacophony of the analogue, coming off the gates whirring and spitting. As in\u00a0<\/span>Bait\u00a0<\/i>and\u00a0<\/span>Enys Men<\/i>, the Cornish director shoots\u00a0<\/span>Rose of Nevada\u00a0<\/i>on 16<\/span>mm in a\u00a0wind-up Bolex, constructing the entire soundscape in post-production, including the haunting score he penned himself. His technique, although carrying a\u00a0notable signature, remains somewhat unpredictable, a\u00a0heightening and numbing of both mind and body that patiently pulls and pushes until it finds the exact point of catharsis.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A crowning achievement of Jenkin\u2019s work has been to find people whose faces mirror the refined textures of his films. Cracked noses and deep crevasses become a\u00a0landscape as vast and complex as that of the director\u2019s beloved home of Cornwall, with frequent collaborators Edward Rowe and Mary Woodvine beautifully embodying the filmmaker\u2019s penchant for performers whose faces communicate intricate complexities without inflation.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n In this, MacKay proves a\u00a0perfect addition to Jenkin\u2019s roster, his Nick imbued with the actor\u2019s natural grasp of the sorrows that come with empathy. Standing by the pooling water under the hole in his roof, Nick lovingly glances at his wee family, mesmerised by the gentle corners of his wife\u2019s pale neck. The same intense eyes briefly gaze at the camera as the Rose of Nevada beats certain demise on the choppy waters yet again, filled not with the relief of survival, but the ache of a\u00a0reunion postponed once more. Jenkin often rests his camera on the actor\u2019s hands as his long, delicate fingers urgently grab at any semblance of firm ground, the pronounced veins running along his arms an ever-present reminder that, although this may seem a\u00a0ghost story, warm blood pulsates through its\u00a0veins.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Juxtaposed to MacKay\u2019s heart-shattering introspection, Turner\u2019s boisterous counterpart performance grants Jenkin the foundation on which to anchor this almost biblical tale of sacrifice and loss, the fishing boat a\u00a0Mount Moriah whose peak tests Nick\u2019s faith in the good of the communal over the personal. It is an experience as moving as it is unnerving, and as the piercing screeching of iron rods announces the Rose of Nevada is to leave port once more, it is we the audience there to wave a\u00a0pained goodbye, quietly stunned by the ethereal aura of Jenkin\u2019s striking creation.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\nGet more Little White\u00a0Lies<\/h3>\n<\/p><\/div>\n