Mark Jenkin’s Rose of Nevada is a bit of a strange beast. For one thing, all of its sound was added in post-production, which lends it an ever-so-slightly uncanny quality as voices sometimes rumble from mouths as if from a faraway dreamscape and nautical sounds seem louder and harsher than they perhaps would be in the real world. Everyone seems to be in a daze: watchful, unsure, bewildered. And this is even before the film’s big twist unveils itself and a true sense of temporal dislocation is manifested. This is a film that slowly drips itself into place like sea mist glazing the stern of a fishing trawler, given a startlingly acute tactility from Jenkin’s 16mm windup Bolex. It’s a fittingly ghostly medium for a ghostly story, like an old photo album that’s been resurrected, bringing long-dead faces back into the present once more.
You may notice that I am being a bit evasive about what the film is actually about, and that is intentional. The emotions and contradictions that are felt by what occurs are best explored in the moment of action, like any piece of art that settles into surrealist modes. But ultimately, the film meditates extensively on how loss can permeate linear time, and how we as human beings have to account for it. If there was a way to go back and undo loss, what kind of greater losses would come about in the wake of that? In Mark Jenkin’s world, there is no escaping it—not for a single second. But whether there is a way to circumvent its fissures, or to adapt emotionally, is a question Rose of Nevada asks us to ponder closely.
There is quite a lot going on simultaneously both sensorily and thematically that sometimes threatens to overwhelm our ability to take everything in, which is what keeps me from liking this work beyond a strong admiration for its detailing and execution. Its sense of detachment in terms of form and content cannot prevent an emotional detachment from creeping in and staying there, even when the central characters played by George MacKay and Callum Turner must inwardly grapple with the new realities they’ve been entrusted with—or, I suppose, thrusted into, depending on how you interpret their respective fates.
Nevertheless, the level of craft on display thanks to Jenkin is exquisite, of that there is no doubt. He is a man awash in ideas that are relevant to this world and churning with potential, and he moreover understands the vision he wants to impart to us. With each new film, his ability to fashion that vision into a work of striking and stirring import grows and grows still further, and Rose of Nevada is a true example of that growth.
Rose of Nevada had its North American premiere at TIFF in the Special Presentations programme on September 6, 2025.
The Lonely Film Critic 