Enys Men

Enys Men is about an woman (just “The Volunteer” in the credits, played by Mary Woodvine) taking soil measurements on the titular uninhabited, fictitious island. She is seemingly haunted by the spirit of the island, by visions and sounds of the past and future.

The movie is both about nothing at all, and about so much more than that dinky summary lets on. This is a highly experimental film, seemingly even more so than at first glance. I’m going to keep it spoiler free here, but I’ve written up something over on Letterboxd to dig more deeply into what’s going on and how things connect and whatnot.

From the beginning, we distinctly get the sense that nobody The Volunteer sees is real. While she’s outside her house, we see a shot shot of a seemingly random man (Edward Rowe), but he never enters the scene. Her ethereal, stilted interactions with The Girl (Flo Crowe) involve them talking at one another. The miner in her house is very out of place (and time). Even the voices on the radio are in doubt, especially the few times they speak when the generator is off.

The key to all this and much of the rest of the film lies in an early radio broadcast. It informs us of the importance of a large stone monument on the island, which was erected in memory of a boatman who died in the old miners’ quay on May 1, 1973. The stone monument can be seen directly outside her door, and was where she was standing when she saw the man’s face. It confirms the large hole she’s been dropping stones into ritualistically is an abandoned mine shaft. And if you were paying close attention just a moment before, it also makes clear something strange is going on with regards to time; her logbook indicates it’s currently April 23, 1973. So how is she hearing this broadcast, which also mentions the event in question took place 50 years ago?

This movie is doing a bunch to play with time. In addition to catching a future broadcast, there are a few shots in which time flows backwards briefly. A few are obvious, but my favorites are the ones which show crashing, swirling waves around the island’s coast, because it takes a minute to figure out what’s going on. My brain caught on before I did: that is, the scene felt wrong before I picked up on what exactly was causing that feeling. Later on, she encounters a group of miners, who seem to be the crew of a lifeboat which was going to aid a supply ship on May 1, 1897. And even apart from the events being unstuck in time, some individual shots out of place. At a few points, we have fairly quick (read: a few seconds) shots which seem to fit better into scenes which happen later in the film. Not like a mistake, of course, but more as if they’ve been inserted here by a faulty memory.

There’s more, but in the interest of not just listing them all at you, let’s move on.

Everything we see seems to center around the previously mentioned stone monument. Events elsewhere on the island mirror things happening around it, and the filmmaking places a great deal of emphasis on its location. It seems mystically tied to a group of seven flowers right next to where The Volunteer is taking her measurements, which themselves start to exhibit odd behavior. Stopping by this monument is part of her ritual on her way home, and it’s not rare for something strange to appear, if only for a second. When she hears voices or singing at night, it comes from the area around the monument. It seems to be the source of the lichen. Figures will sometimes appear next to it, and when she follows their gaze they eventually lead her somewhere important.

I think what I’m really getting at here is that Enys Men is more of a vibe than a strong narrative, even though it has one. It’s just that the narrative doesn’t really mean anything without its symbolism and connective tissue. I could recount the events to you, but they’d be hollow. The nonlinearity makes it trickier to relay, even though it does all connect. And none of that is really why it’s good; it’s the atmosphere combined with the abstract and unsettling nature of the horror, and how it does all come together in a way that tells of an ever repeating cycle.

The score and soundscape are a huge part of building the sense of dread and isolation which pervade the movie. I can’t quite place the style of the music, but it’s low-fi and ethereal and feels like it belongs in the 80s experimental scene. Honestly, it kinda reminds me of the verses of Change (In the House of Flies) by Deftones. And the soundscape is such an important part of the story. After the radio broadcast, The Volunteer’s weird experiences kick into high gear, mostly in the form of hearing the sounds of the miners. Clanging hammers when she puts her ear to the ground, the sound of carts rolling along tracks, mining chants, and more subtly fill the air. There’s a pretty astounding one of glass shattering when a gull dives into the ocean, signifying The Volunteer’s further disconnect from reality. And this all compliments the spare usage of character’s voices; this is a film with very little dialog, and no sustained conversations.

One final thing, which is about something the movie helped me realize, more than about the movie itself.

As a recent cinefile, and one who grew up mostly in an age dominated by digital video, I never got the obsession with physical film stock. I’ve had friends describe it as “warmer”, and others talk about how it’s a better picture and has brighter colors. All of which I buy, but never “got”, ya know? I think I just internalized the idea that old movies look a certain way. And learning that mother! and Moonrise Kingdom were shot on 16 mm film didn’t help, as those movies don’t strike me as looking a particular way.

But after watching Enys Men, I get it.

It’s a modern, color movie shot on 16 mm, complete with film grain and imperfections. I think the contrast is what really got me. The slickers, The Girl’s garments, the flowers, the water, the contrast between all of them was incredible. And it gave the whole island such a tactile, textured feel. The lighting was highlighted and accentuated by the subtle noise on the screen, and it fit the tone and setting of the story perfectly. Which is another key point; maybe it’s not that film is better than digital, but that when used in the proper places to tell the right story, it conveys its mood better than digital.

I don’t know there’s a deeper meaning to be found in this movie. Maybe something about isolation? *shrugs* But that’s okay. Not every horror film needs to be Get Out. This is a damn effective folk tale told in an incredibly bold an hypnotic style, and I adore it.