Mark Jenkin's film, Rose of Nevada, is a haunting exploration of time, memory, and the allure of the past. The movie is a testament to Jenkin's unique style, blending cinematic decay with a deep sense of nostalgia. The film's narrative centers around two men, Nick and Liam, who find themselves drawn into a temporal twilight zone, where they inhabit the lives of two long-lost crewmen, Luke and Alan. This premise sets the stage for a thought-provoking journey through the complexities of time and identity.
One of the most striking aspects of Rose of Nevada is Jenkin's commitment to analogue forms. He shot the film himself on a 16mm Bolex with no live sound, opting to mix, record, and compose all of the film's aural elements in postproduction. This approach adds a layer of distortion to the tactile imagery, creating a sense of timelessness and a subtle sense of unease. The film's visual style is a masterful blend of kitchen-sink realism and formalist abstraction, with camera movements that shiver and seasick, punctuated by hypnotic slow-motion and stasis. This unique visual language contributes to the film's overall sense of disorientation and the feeling that the past is slipping away.
The characters in Rose of Nevada are intricately crafted, with a focus on their place in a community that surrounds and eventually imprisons them. Nick, played by George MacKay, is a struggling breadwinner who exits a food bank, hastening home to his beloved wife and daughter. Liam, played by Callum Turner, drifts into the desolate, destitute town and quickly heads to the local bar, where he meets a beautiful young woman. The film explores the stark difference between the village's bustling past and its unpeopled present, putting the stakes of the Rose's expedition into context for both the protagonists and the local economy. The characters' footwear is a significant symbol, with Nick wearing workman's boots and Liam wearing sneakers, reflecting their different roles and the film's exploration of identity and belonging.
The film's symbolism frequently teeters on the edge of opacity, with Jenkin's knack for staging his ideas through behavior and gesture carrying the film through its wobbliest passages. The characters' fraying psychologies are folded into a larger view of the measures a neglected town will go to in order to preserve its place on the map. The film's final shot finds the two men in an identical pose of departure, as the Rose tugs them out to sea, and out of frame, the men's faces are blank, suspended in stoic submission to their newfound positions as ghosts in the machine. This final image is a powerful commentary on the exploitation of workers and the allure of the past, leaving a lasting impression on the viewer.
In conclusion, Rose of Nevada is a thought-provoking and visually stunning film that explores the complexities of time, memory, and identity. Jenkin's unique approach to filmmaking and his attention to detail create a rich and immersive cinematic experience. The film's exploration of the past and its impact on the present is a powerful commentary on the human condition, leaving a lasting impression on the viewer and inviting further reflection and discussion.
