Life after death Glenn (Gareth Williams) is the head of a large family, slowly and painfully dying of throat cancer. All this time he is being looked after by his wife Suzanne (Andy McDowell) and sons Nicholas (Chris O’Dowd) and Chris (James Adomian).
After the death of his father, his eldest son Nick decides to divorce his wife (Juliet Rylance) because of a young actress Emily (Dree Hemingway). At the same time, the younger one plunges into the abyss of depression and destructive drunkenness, which is why he constantly exposes himself in an inappropriate light. And Suzanne finds a new man - an elderly single father Michael (Matt Salinger), raising a teenage son.
Death is something that sometimes happens. To be honest, death is something that happens all the time. Now. And now. And in between those words. Almost two people die every second. One Love After Another is a very true film about what happens when someone leaves. One moment the bed is warm and the next it is cold. One moment the house is full and the next it is full of ghosts. Everything has changed, but nothing has changed. The bed is still the bed - the house is still home. Work will resume on Monday, there will be no seats for mourners on the bus (which seems unfair), and around midnight Ivan Urgant will always fool around with celebrities on TV.
If this sounds terrible to you, you should know that it is not some masochistic experience like the work of Alex Ross Perry. Russell Harbaugh's debut is closer to the school of American melancholy internal drama, which dates back to Woody Allen. But the film is more remarkable because of how much is left unsaid. Most of the scenes created by the director are no more than fragments seen through doorways or from distant distances through Chris Teague's grainy camera palette. The work of the operator seems laid-back and at times shockingly authentic, allowing emotions to penetrate and develop at will. This small and flawlessly implemented feature challenges the limited way in which losses tend to be portrayed in movies.
The author and his ensemble created a cautious, cold drama that is not only not afraid to show a detailed portrait of a family experiencing the death of a patriarch, but also does not refuse to show the uneven intimacy between the mother and the eldest son. Chris O’Dowd is incredibly good and disgusting. He reveals himself as an actor of considerable range and sensitivity, but perhaps the writers could prescribe at least one life-saving episode for him. The film is truly revealed as the director moves from one bitter moment to the next, immersing Nick in increasingly terrifying circumstances. Meanwhile, Andy McDowell is excruciatingly gorgeous, like a woman stuck in purgatory, where even her fleeting happiness hurts. It oscillates between warmth and fragility, never creating false emotions.
One love after another suggests that you will be able to survive grief, but that is only your business, because the rest of the world will continue to exist. In this light, it is fitting that the picture ends with a catchy scene of cognitive dissonance that makes one wonder, “Wait, is that right?”