Ammonite (2020)

 Score: 4 / 5

Loosely inspired by what little is known of British paleontologist Mary Anning's private life, Ammonite dramatizes a bleak existence scraping amongst the rocks and cliffs of the English Channel in Dorset. Anning wasn't seemingly as well-known as she may have deserved: as a Protestant separatist from Anglican society, and of course as a woman, her scientific discoveries were the result of backbreaking work. Denied funding from the male- and Church-dominated scientific communities, it's likely she did not receive much credit for the work she did produce, which included the first icthyosaur skeleton as well as the fact that what were commonly called bezoars were actually fossilized feces. These details, among others, are suggested in this film, and frankly I'd have been interested in more tidbits like this.

But unlike Radioactive, the only other major movie this year to explore the real life of a pioneering female scientist, Ammonite isn't a historical treatise. In fact, some might say it's more like fan fiction. It takes as its dramatic focus Mary Anning, a character more than an entry in the encyclopedia, the perpetually dirty hermit living with her mother Molly (Gemma Jones). Played to perfection by Kate Winslet, delivering her most impressive performance in several years, Mary toils along a solitary shoreline in silence to find rocks worth polishing and breaking open to find fossils. Even when the drama begins to pick up, she doesn't speak much. Winslet controls the flow of the entire film with simple twists of her brow, piercing gazes, and of course rigidly calculated body language.

When another paleontologist pops in to her shop, one who seems genuinely interested in her work, Mary seems immediately repelled by his professed indifference toward gender relations and inequity. He controls his wife with, if not outright cruelty, disdain and annoyance, telling people she suffers from "melancholia" and takes it upon himself to keep her subservient in all things. Charlotte Murchison (a brilliant Saoirse Ronan) becomes sick, and her husband (I think his name is Roderick? It never seemed to matter much) leaves her with Mary to get healthy in the seaside air and sun. Because of course an already working woman can just casually nurse his ill wife at his whim, right? But, despite a few rough bumps, the two women take to each other well, and there isn't much tension in terms of class, wealth, or lifestyle.

Charlotte even accompanies Mary to the shore and assists with her work. Their physical labor together gradually shifts into physical affection; after several beautifully emotional encounters they finally consummate their feelings. But this isn't quite the kind of explosive sex you might think; this is deeply emotional, about the importance of human relationships even when they aren't expected or wanted. There is no melodrama here and certainly no soap. The emotional climaxes are understated and deeply introverted; the nuances of Winslet and Ronan are masterclasses in acting, precisely because they are so precise and clear, even as they could easily be missed, if you watch with one eye on the screen and one eye on your phone. And then, of course, the sex scenes are actually quite passionate, sensitive, and tasteful. Apparently Winslet herself choreographed these scenes as well as controlling the atmosphere behind the camera; the record of this is remarkable, and champions both feminist filmmaking and feminist male directors.

Francis Lee was already a great director in my book for giving us the gift that is God's Own Country back in 2017. And here it just gets better with two amazing performances from even bigger names. While at times the film's silence is frustrating, I find myself haunted even now, days after viewing it. I've read several angry accounts of people saying Lee, who also wrote this screenplay, is rewriting history, because there is no evidence of Mary Anning's queerness. I reject that utterly, as this film is by no means a historical record. However, it is certainly possible that Anning and Murchison (or someone else) were romantically involved. How many stories have been told, about any number of historical figures whose intimacies were unknown, that explicitly showed people to be heterosexual? Why should a single, relatively unappreciated and even unknown, movie like this be subjected to such disdain and criticism? Lee deserves a damned award for simply being audacious enough to shift the status quo and allow for speculation like this in such a thoughtful, poignant way.

And, of course, it's an insightful and warm-hearted story about unexpected, transformative love, all the more powerful in a year when we ourselves have been so isolated.