Being only two years shy of navigating a viral surge that seized every form of international consciousness, it could be argued that it’s too soon to release a film with similar elements of global catastrophe. Audiences have been looking for any form of escapism they can get, the wounds of endless unknowing and living on the edge too fresh to be healed yet. The release of Ashgrove, directed by Jeremy Lalonde, unconsciously provides an antidote in the form of sensibly crafted filmmaking and a narrative that embraces pandemic life without making it the sole focus.
Jennifer (Amanda Brugel) has burnt herself out working around the clock as a leading world scientist trying to cure a global pandemic in which the world’s water is virtually undrinkable. Following a life-threatening blackout, she retreats with her husband to Ashgrove farm, as suggested by her ever-present therapist. As the events of their weekend come to a head, Jennifer suspects her husband is withholding the truth from her.
Receiving its world premiere at this year’s Glasgow Film Festival, Ashgrove is solid in its efforts to provide normality in the abnormal. Dayplayers walk past shots, seen at a distance wearing masks and making a noticeable contrast to the seemingly everyday conversation happening in the foreground. It’s this context of “a pandemic within a pandemic” that makes Ashgrove relatable and grounded, centering itself around the inner workings of mental health and marriage as opposed to the feeling of impending doom.
Even with pandemic fatigue, any audience can’t help but be empathetic. Jennifer represents a mutual feeling, trying to juggle the many balls that life throws during the most perilous of circumstances. Her connection to husband Jason (played by the film’s co-writer Jonas Chernick) is well worn in, sleepwalking through the familiarity that comes with years of cohabitation. Every character is valid in their inclusion, with the overall ensemble delivering strong performances to collectively drive the narrative forward.
Alongside a delicately whimsy feel to its cinematography, Ashgrove is quick to strike the parallels of toxicity in nature — in both a physical and emotional sense. Projections of ideal romanticism are glimpsed through early morning canoeing and ukulele singalongs at dusk. A water bottle marking daily intake allowance is the crown jewel of visual motifs, marking a circumstance where petty things escalate to the biggest of problems. There’s an understandable level of paranoia embedded into every part of Ashgrove’s makeup, keeping the audience on its toes with curveballs deemed part and parcel of pandemic life. For a relatively small scale film, it delivers an impressive technical output.
If a film should be anything at all, it should be narratively satisfying, and the well-rounded Ashgrove makes good on fulfilling this unspoken brief. Small gripes come in the form of unpacking information, with the technicalities behind a global water pandemic possibly needing greater explanation at the film’s beginning. The perils of precision planning come into full force, and any detail that feels slightly too far-fetched is easily justified through the abnormality of a global pandemic. Nothing is ever certain or what it seems — even when the scope of international disaster differs.
What are we willing to subject ourselves to? According to Ashgrove, everything — including what we can’t handle alone. With robust performances and a comforting visual palette, the film is a solid entry into the canon of pandemic filmmaking.
