No one else does what Mark Jenkin does. Over three functions, the Cornist director has established himself as a singular author, and his latest, “Nevadrosa“Is in many ways just more of the same thing. His special brand of avant-garde, genre work is, at least from the outside, basically irresistible to anyone who loves the cult cinema. His latest, shot at 16 mm with all the sounds recorded in the post-production, is a dron-y story with a lot on his mind and sound mixture so high my ears were still a ring.
There are Walkouts on each film Of his, I have participated, usually exactly 10 minutes when they realize that the whole thing will just be “so.” This is entertaining but understandable; In an era where raw materialsjismism has transformed analogue, low budget film into any ambition, Jenkin has not made any compromises for accessibility. None of this is a salesman aesthetic for him; It is the essence of his work, as a difficult on top of celluloid pressure. There is a feeling that he is making films in Cornwall with a consistent stable of artists not to build a personal brand, but since there is no anywhere else he could find better rust, better moss or stronger wind. He does not use the French intensity at Jerzy Skolimowszki or Takashi Ito as a moodboard; These are the basics of his cinematic language.
“Rose of Nevada” is the most planned of his films, although it is rated on a fairly steep curve. It is a story that can fit comfortably in a classic section “Twilight Zone”. 30 years ago, the named fishing boat disappeared after going out to sea briefly. With that went a whole coastal city’s economy, and the only surviving deck hands, the one that stayed ashore, threw themselves from a cliff. Now the ship has magically appeared at the Round Port. Two men – drunk named Liam, played by Callum Turner, and a family man named Nick, played by George Mackay – unaware of the ship’s past, is employed by the deceased crew families to go out again. When they return, they are in the past after assuming the roles of the two men who were lost before.
The story, although sparse, is an excellent position for Jenkin. For the first time, he has made a function that does not slacken or stays in his efforts to justify its Runtime. The methodical cacophony in the boat and the city’s temporary collapse clarifies his project. Liam, once speechless and uneven, quickly finds the purpose in the charad as husband and father. Nick, desperately after returning to the present, shakes the dotting parents and brother who longs to comfort him. To what extent someone else is aware of the time loop is ambiguous; The ship’s skipper is an older man without memory of his name, and sometimes it is suggested that the city has deliberately captured these men.
That feeling of spiritual prison may have another explanation. When a net breaks in a storm, a dozen brew workers rush to the beach to sew it up. When Nick asks, terrified, why they are all so keen, his so -called brother shouts because “we are a society”, as if it is a threat. The skipper says “For every man at sea, there are five men at home who trust you.” The spirits of these men are not only used; Their work is too. Nick and Liam not only lose their future, but their identity. They resigned to a life where they are always at work in some way.
The film’s opening finds the city of de -industrialized and full of ghosts. Back in the 90s, videos work on computer chips and global warming as oracles. “It’s not too late yet,” reads such an advertisement. This is not just a story about sadness and memory, it is about how the world sacrifices our future and ourselves in the pursuit of a pre -plasiated, conservative ideal. The subtle revelation of the time condition Kvasi-incest between Liam and the girl whom he continues to raise as his daughter is one of many signs that this world is deeply ill.
This is where Jenkin’s obsession with the structures in their own work reveals their purpose. Moreso than in previous work he illustrates the dissonance between his subject and his form. This is a film image with almost a hundred -year -old methods, with contemporary pop songs and iPhones. When we see the city for the second time, the camera blocks predetermined techniques, jukeboxes and CCTVs and knitting cars. It would be unclear to say that this movie is not in love with its own schtick, but it is far from his least abandoned. Jenkins questions our relationship with the subject of nostalgia and how we re -memorize the structures of history in our lives.
Yet none of this would work if it was not visceral, addictive. There is something ominous in transport and the border-Coy atmosphere in “Rose of Nevada.” The viewer grows used to the lightning sound of fish that hits the floor or the chipped color of the ice valve ominous shot of fish bowels explodes with composition lines that edit slickly into the jetties in the bridge. It probably LO-Fi SFX creates legitimate spectacle; I have no idea how they pulled off a simple shot of George Mackay’s face and looked at a storm rolling into the blowing speed. There is a greater focus on manufactured materials in this compared to his previous works, but that does not mean that the film lacks fantastic views or his iconic cropped close -ups, with pores shimmering through the film stock.
Mackay and Turner are both excellent, two movie stars who seem to be completely played to be asked to move with real gruffness. Consignment of these two men takes almost one meta -textual dimension, two celebrities are in a regional, experimental tradition. The self -reflexive characteristics of the work are moving on, and the film can certainly be read as a statement about the boundaries and opportunities for a completely analogous and backward practice. But “Rose of Nevada” is too slippery for everyone to be completely nailed down. I wish Liam’s newfound purpose was given as much space as Nick’s desperate attempts to escape from the city, but in one way it would ask for another movie completely. You can imagine the same story, justified by a dozen people, each with a different emphasis and less post -production. That way, “Rose of Nevada” feels like a folk story. It is the kind of movie that I would half expect to have a completely different ending every time I see it.
“Rose of Nevada” abandons or anonymizes any of Jenkin’s characteristics and is therefore unlikely to convert any agnostics. But for the believers and the curious, here is a work of hypnotically implemented form and legitimate depth.
Rating: B+
“Rose of Nevada” premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival 2025. It is currently seeking US distribution.
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