Directed by Andrew Haigh. Starring Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal and Claire Foy. 2023
In Andrew Haigh’s All of us Strangers, one night in his near-empty London tower block, screenwriter Adam has a chance encounter with mysterious neighbour Harry, puncturing the rhythm of his everyday life. As a relationship develops between them, Adam finds himself drawn back to his childhood home, where his parents appear to be living just as they were on the day they died 30 years ago.
In this ghostly tale of rediscovery and connection, Haigh beautifully merges an exploration of grief with a complex and effective look at the queer experience in its many intricacies. With striking imagery of the empty flat block, immediately evoking classic ghost stories, we place Scott’s Adam at the heart of it. The screenplay does have a few twists and big character shifts, but the heart of this film is the tender and realistic dialogue. Characters feel like real people, talking about things we can all relate to and therefore pulling us right in to the heart of the story.
As much as all the other crafts and actors are key to this film working so well, there is no film without the layered performance Andrew Scott gives. At once a bored and lonely man, in the middle of his life and unfamiliar with romantic relationships, and then immediately transformed as a 12 year old again in a man’s body. His interaction with his parents is breathtaking in its normlacy, at once his age peers and also a clear dynamic of parent and child. It would have been so easy to get this performance wrong, but Scott strikes the correct note at every turn and gives the performance of his lifetime.
Paul Mescal, who has made a niche for himself in soulful and introspective dramas like Normal People and Aftersun, again delivers a stunning performance. This time however, it is a supporting role and much more of a broken and troubled man, but equally kind and caring. He immediately makes you root for him and Adam’s relationship, while never losing the pain that is always on the surface.
In the role of the parents, confronted with the adult son they never got to see grow, and the mistakes they made during their lives, both Foy and Bell shine. These are complex roles, and demand a lot from their actors. Foy is the perfectly portrayed 1980s mother, deeply caring and proud of her son, but also with ingrained homophobia and fear at the thought of her son being gay, which was a common part of the culture of the time, and this is portrayed so delicately. Bell on the other hand keeps his emotions surprisingly right at the surface, with a scene featuring him and Scott reminiscing on why he “never came into your room when you were crying” being a devastating emotional centrepiece.
As a critic it is often important to keep an objective view, whilst also feeding in your own experiences and influences into your thoughts. For me, as someone who lost a parent at a young age, I feel a deeply personal connection to this film and the presentation of grief and desire for more time with loved ones. The ache hiding silently behind all you other emotions, always waiting to come out when you least expect it. Sometimes grief is much less about the pain of losing a loved one, and much more the pain of wondering what life would have been like if you had more time with them.
Haigh and Scott have created a ghostly reflection on love, grief and the void in-between. This is the film of the festival and likely of the year.
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