It is like Banquo’s ghost appearing forty-five
years after Macbeth’s crime, except Geoff Mercer has nothing to feel guilty
about. Right? That is exactly the question his wife Kate will wrestle with when
word arrives of the discovery of his tragically deceased former girlfriend
Katya’s body. The fact the she died before the Mercers even met is a crucial
detail. Frankly, all the details are important in 45 Years (trailer here),
Andrew Haigh’s rigorous examination of an ostensibly comfortable marriage under
sudden stress, which opens this Wednesday in New York at the IFC Center.
The fact that she was named Katya is almost
too much. She and Geoff Mercer were quite the item but she got too close to the
edge while hiking in the Alps and over she went. After all these years, she has
finally been found, perfectly preserved in an ice crevice. Initially, Geoff
Mercer tries to shrug with “oh, surely I mentioned her” prevarications, but his
distracted manner speaks volumes. Still, Kate tries to allow him a little
melancholy nostalgia as she finalizes the plans for their forty-fifth
anniversary party. Despite never having children, she always thought they had
built something solid and meaningful. Yet, the absence of photos documenting
their life together takes on nagging significance, especially since old Geoff
still has pictures of Katya.
He does indeed, but audience members should
not expect to see them. Shrewdly, Haigh only allows us oblique and obscured
glimpses of the eternally young and vivacious Katya. How we see the Mercers
seeing her is more important than getting a good gander at the spectral
home-wrecker.
Casting 1960s era icons like Charlotte
Rampling and Tom Courtenay is almost too on-the-nose, but their considerable
chops casts aside any gimmicky casting reservations. Courtenay no longer looks
anything like a long distance runner, as we can plainly and shirtlessly see,
whereas Rampling is still ramrod straight and naturally elegant. Yet, they
still feel like a couple that is well familiar with each other. They are still
two of the best in the business, who say more with silence and restraint than someone
like a Meryl Streep ever could with all the shtick and histrionics at her
disposal. There is just something uncomfortably honest about their
performances. Just watching the film feels like an intrusion into a very
private drama.
