Enys Men – An unnerving and experimental look at what’s beneath the surface
Mark Jenkin emerged onto the scene with the massive success of his breakout debut feature Bait (2019), an incredible and experimental feature about gentrification and the class divide within Cornwall. With his sophomore feature, Enys Men, Jenkin continues to establish himself as one of the boldest and most innovative filmmaking voices within Britain. Jenkin returns to the familiar territory of his native Cornwall, this time in 1973, to illustrate the daily life and routine of a wildlife volunteer on a remote, isolated island. The film constructs a daily routine as regimented as Jeanne Dielman; she tends to wild flowers, throws rocks down mine shafts, puts the kettle on, and writes in her notebook. However, the “No changes” the character writes about couldn’t be further from the truth. Enys Men, instead, illustrates the eerie submersion into the insanity of the protagonist as she becomes increasingly haunted by images of her past.
The film initially establishes an atmospheric and oneiric tone, with droning chords of the soundtrack and naturalistic imagery of a remote island off the coast of Cornwall. The compositions are beautiful, shot on richly textured 16mm. This dreamlike mood, however, soon becomes a nightmare, with Jenkin leaning much deeper into horror conventions to disturb the quiet serenity of the island. The soundtrack is interjected with piercing, screeching sounds, the light images of natural beauty are similarly interrupted with images of the darkness that is to follow, and the ultra-wide angles of the coast are juxtaposed with close-ups so extreme they become uncomfortable.
The structure and progression of Enys Men create a lot of ambiguity surrounding the narrative, and the audience can certainly be forgiven for getting lost in differentiating visions and reality. The non-linear structure imbues the film with a rich history, such as the miners trapped beneath the monument and the witches that haunt the protagonist. But it is the personal history of the protagonist that takes centre stage, the previously buried trauma of The Volunteer emerging and unravelling on screen as the audience witnesses her visions of the past translated onto the present as she descends into insanity. The film is thus buoyed by the reserved and beguiling performance of Mary Woodvine, who brilliantly conveys the inner trauma and sense of isolation of the character.
The ambiguity of the film continues right up until its finale, with some narrative strands and obscurities tied up through recurring visual motifs, but others are left completely unanswered. This unwillingness to clarify everything makes the film all the more unsettling. Despite the scarcity of gore or violence, the film managed to plant itself deeply under my skin, with the indistinguishability of the nightmarish visions and reality creating a truly unnerving experience.
With Enys Men, Jenkin continues to experiment with the filmmaking form, creating another innovative film that is likely to implant itself in the viewer’s heads long after watching due to its slow, eerie tone, bold and distinctive visual style, and brilliant sound design. If the impressive technical aspects aren’t enough, I will certainly also be preoccupied attempting to unravel the layers of meaning throughout.
