All of Us Strangers

My first exposure to Andrew Scott was over a decade ago, when he stepped out of the shadows into a darkened pool room with a flowery yet menacing “Jim Moriarty. Hiiii” (forgive the awful quality of that video). Despite being absolutely entranced by his ability to portray a wildly chaotic character with a level of emotional precision that kept him feeling cohesive through his unpredictability, I just wasn’t huge into TV and movies at the time. As such, I kind of lost track of Scott’s career. Having not heard anything about him since his Sherlock days, I presumed my adoration of his acting was not the norm, so never bothered looking him up as my film obsession grew.

Thus, when the trailers for All of Us Strangers started running, I could barely have been more delighted. Not only did it bring Scott back into my life, but it co-stars Paul Mescal, one of the most in-demand young actors, easily amongst my current favorites. Add to that its neon dreamscape, the passionate love story being hinted at, all punctuated by the isolated vocal track from “Always on My Mind” by Pet Shop Boys layered over spacious synths, and I felt my body tingling with anticipation.

Scott plays Adam, a screenwriter working on a script about his parents, whom we soon learn passed away when he was twelve. In an attempt to connect to them, he journeys from his apartment complex on the edge of the London to his childhood home. Much to our surprise (but seemingly not his), he finds the two of them living there (played by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell), happy to reconnect and catch up with him after so long.

Concurrently, back at his apartment he has a chance encounter with a drunk Harry (Mescal), one of the building’s few other occupants. Both men seem terminally lonely from the moment they appear on screen, desperate to forge a connection. Bashful Adam initially rejects Harry’s advances before seeking him out soon after, and the two begin a whirlwind and intensely passionate romance.

These two plot lines never directly intersect, but they do bounce off each other and become intertwined. How could they not? At the same time that Adam is trying to work through and get past the pain of the loss of his parents, clearly still deeply impacting him despite being decades ago, that raw emotional scab is being constantly ripped open by his interactions with them. These drive some of the more personal and painful conversations with Harry, as Harry just wants to get to know who he is now. But these visits become Adam’s obsession, and the repeated trips never allow for time to heal the scars they uncover. The result is keeping Harry at arms length emotionally, as Adam has tremendous difficulty being present and trusting his feelings. It’s as if the time he spent denying himself in order to fit into the world has caused him to lose trust in who he truly is.

Director Andrew Haigh conducts a fascinating and powerful experiment in memory made manifest, where we’re never quite sure what is real and what is the invention of a man who has made the construction of fictional worlds his business. It’s the type of experience people often say they wish for, the ability have conversations with those from our past, to say what was left unsaid. But Haigh wishes to demonstrate that while there is power and meaning in those interactions, there is far more value in moving forward. There’s no use in wondering what might have been, nor for blaming yourself for things which were completely outside of your control, despite both being natural human reactions to difficult circumstances.

It features some of the most striking and lovely cinematography I’ve seen in quite some time, especially considering the limited locations: it mostly takes place in either an apartment building or a small house. Even just the opening shot is stunning: we’re looking out over London in the early morning, and as the Sun rises, it reflects off a glass building downtown, illuminating the shirtless reflection of Adam, standing just behind us as we both look out his apartment window. Cinematographer Jamie Ramsay does an incredible job finding creative ways to make use of all the surfaces and looks he can to construct a melancholy, dreamlike, reflective feeling throughout.

And the performances. Oh my, the performances. Both men are absolutely remarkable, each capturing various expressions of the holes in their heart. Scott plays Adam as a reclusive sadboy, so disillusioned and frustrated with the world as to recoil from it. It seems fitting that he lives in such an empty place, far away from anything else. You may expect Mescal to take a similar tack, given how incredible he’s proven to be at it with the masterclass that is his Aftersun performance. However, Harry is more outgoing, more boisterous, more rambunctious. He hides his anguish beneath a layer of noise, be it talking or drug use or alcohol. And yet, Harry is unmistakably just as broken and depressed as Adam. You can feel it in all of his actions, suggestions, and facial expressions, never mind the brief moments the mask slips. Their pain combines in ways that have the potential to be therapeutic for both men, as long as Adam can convince himself that moving on is the way forward.

All of Us Strangers is a movie overflowing with raw emotion. It’s full of frank discussions handled in ways unique amongst mainstream film, broaching subjects like coming out to your parents or what maturing as a gay man in the time of HIV and AIDS is like, as well as how being even the vaguest bit different can make you feel like a stranger in your own world as a child (an idea which births the title of the film). It also features blissful depictions of letting yourself go, the healing power of being able to fall into the arms of someone who cares about you in ways you can’t even name, and the devastation of being made to let go of it all. This is a raw nerve of a film, one which is likely to leave you either sobbing or in dazed awe (or both).