Matt and Mara | 2024
Matt Johnson and Deragh Campbell in Matt and Mara. Courtesy of Cinema Guild.
In the days since I first saw Kazik Radwanski's Matt and Mara, I've found myself reflecting on it quite a bit. It's an unassuming film, small in scale and short in length, but its impact is something quite lovely and lingering: an unexpectedly profound reflection on loneliness and the human connections and disconnections that result from it.
The film centers on Mara (Deragh Campbell) an author and English professor whose life is suddenly jolted by the reappearance of Matt (Matt Johnson), a somewhat lackadaisical fellow writer from her past. Matt's more freewheeling ways upset the balance of what she thought was a carefully planned life - a musician husband, a loving child; but Matt's presence seems to remind Mara of a less ordered time, a time when she was carefree and unencumbered. That sense of freedom becomes intoxicating, and when Mara's husband is forced to bow out of a conference trip where she is scheduled to give a lecture, Mara asks Matt to tag along. As their rekindled connection deepens, Mara is forced to reckon with her own sense of self and the path down which her choices have led her.
Some viewers may be reminded of Celine Song's Past Lives, but Radwanski gets a bit messier in exploring Mara's inner conflict. That's where the remarkable Deragh Campbell (Possessor) steps in. Campbell lends such a quiet interiority to her character that goes beyond the words on the page. Much of the film's dialogue feels mundane but deceptively so. As the seemingly routine conversations play out, we see much of the drama play out on Campbell's face, Radwanski's camera holding on every glance and expression to capture an entirely different movie playing out inside her.
That inner life within the film makes Matt and Mara so special. There's a kind of laid-back slice-of-life aesthetic that recalls the work of Dan Sallitt or Matías Piñeiro, yet it feels wholly its own; a fresh and often vibrant exploration of a woman coming to terms with what is by reconnecting with what has been. It works itself under the skin in subtle but powerful ways, its sunny exterior masking a tangible sense of longing and regret lingering in the air like a whiff of a fragrance suddenly recalling a forgotten love long gone. It may not wear its heart on its sleeve quite like Past Lives, but almost pulls off something more reflective and haunting; a rumination on "what ifs" that hits like a ton of bricks.
