Return

Return explores a layered cocktail of themes through its brief 10 minute runtime, leading the audience on an emotional meditation on grief, memory, and humanity’s place within the natural world.

Peter Faulkner’s character carries the weight of loss deep inside, and most of Return’s runtime is spent inside his mind. He sits alone in a dark room, apparently isolated from the world, and the image is a shockingly stark one. Carr-Gomm focuses a great deal of attention on the man’s difficulty in grasping a glass of water and bringing it to his lips to drink. Yet, when he closes his eyes, colour and light return to the picture. We see rocky clifftops adorned with birds, the power of a calm sea, a beautiful natural world rich with flora and fauna. A mysterious woman (Jade Lauren) with some connection to Faulkner’s character is always out of reach standing a part of the natural world within his mind. The vast skies and dense woodland suggest something heavenly about the Earth, and as the old man walks throughout these lush environments there’s no hint of any corporeal weakness about him. At one point, he plants his face in the grass, drinking in the physical sensation. Carr-Gomm’s depiction of literal connection with the land juxtaposes the isolation of Faulkner’s character at the start of the short - sat alone in his armchair, the only hint of a world outside his room is the sunlight softly settled on his window. Similarly to the recently Academy Award nominated Train Dreams, Carr-Gomm explores loss and the nature of grief by using the natural world as a sort of bridge between the living and the dead.

The filmmaking on display in Return is spectacular and helps to sell the spiritual ideas that the film explores. The photography of the environment is breathtaking, often captured with wide shots from high above to capture the vibrant beauty of the Earth. Sunflower fields appear as a rich tapestry of colour, and a single cloud in the sky looks as though painted by a dexterous hand. Special attention is given to smaller details such as a hand running over wheat in a field, and the aforementioned face rubbing in the grass, giving a real sense of texture and presence in the world. Return’s sensory experience is heightened by a simple piano score which guides the audience through the journey. The film is entirely without dialogue, yet Ben Rowarth’s composition speaks for itself.

Peter Faulkner’s performance in the film was deeply personal to his own life experience, Carr-Gomm has stated. His character moves deliberately in every single moment, communicating feelings of love and loneliness clearly without speaking. A particularly moving sequence of Faulkner’s performance is when he dances alone in his kitchen, coming to life in a deeply vulnerable display of laboured elegance. He brilliantly embodies the heartbreak of continuing on after a loved one’s death, and the overwhelming inclination to withdraw into one’s shell. Reminiscing can be self destructive in a way, and Faulkner’s depiction of earthly liberation, to reconnect with the natural world as well as his loved one, suggests a call to be reunited with them, to return to them.

Return speaks to the loneliness of life, but also the power of the natural world and the love that connects us to each other. The confident filmmaking and the tender performances support complex ideas with the short’s brief runtime, without the help of words to convey meaning. The result is a piece of cinema that will have audiences reminiscing about their lost loved ones, and maybe picking up the phone to give their older friends and relatives a call.