Joanna Scanlan makes After Love a moving, uncomfortable account of grief complicated by betrayal. Aleem Khan’s drama is worth an evening, with one reservation: the writing sometimes makes the hurt too tidy.
After Love is a moving drama with a performance worth making time for. Writer-director Aleem Khan takes a widow’s discovery of her husband’s secret life and allows the humiliation to matter as much as the bereavement. Mary / Fahima, played by Joanna Scanlan, has lost someone and must now question what she knew about him. That is a strong premise for melodrama, and Khan’s patience with her makes it more troubling than a simple story of deception.
Scanlan gives Mary’s hurt a physical awkwardness that makes it difficult to watch comfortably. We were moved by the humiliation she conveys: the discovery asks Mary to reconsider a marriage while she is still grieving the man she married. Scanlan makes the effort of coping apparent without making every feeling immediately readable, and that uncertainty keeps us watching her closely. The performance lets grief, anger and embarrassment exist together; Mary need not choose one emotion so that we can keep up.
Alexander Dynan’s cinematography and Gareth C. Scales’s editing are best judged by the attention they allow us to pay to Scanlan. We have time to register Mary’s discomfort without feeling that each moment has been underlined for our benefit. At 89 minutes, the film feels patient, although its economy can also make the changes in feeling seem a little too neatly arranged. The editing is strongest in maintaining that watchfulness while the discovery of the secret life supplies the suspense.
Chris Roe’s music and Sarah Jenneson’s production design are secondary pleasures here, and we mean that as a compliment. Neither is what stays with us when we think about Mary’s distress. In a drama whose premise could invite a good deal of insistence, the balance feels right: Scanlan is given room to carry the emotional weight. We value the film’s restraint, even when Khan’s handling of the story becomes less assured.
Nathalie Richard as Genevieve and Talid Ariss as Solomon give the drama weight beyond its central performance. Khan needs us to remain interested in people whose lives cannot be explained solely by what Mary is feeling, and the ensemble helps him do that. Richard, in particular, prevents our sympathy for Scanlan from deciding everything in advance. There is room for discomfort here that a less considered treatment of betrayal might have hurried us through.
Our reservation is that Khan occasionally seems too eager to put the feelings in order. The story’s tidier passages make the relationships easier to grasp, but they also reduce some of the difficulty that Scanlan has been so good at preserving. We do not need every hurt to become understandable in quite so manageable a form. It is a modest complaint, though an important one in a film that asks us to take such intimate unhappiness seriously.
Against the familiar pleasures of a secret-life drama, After Love offers less satisfaction in judging the absent husband than in spending time with the woman left behind. Its suspense comes from how much Mary can bear to learn, and Scanlan makes that question worth following without announcing its importance. The film is strongest when it lets us sit with her embarrassment for longer than feels polite. Choose it for a quiet evening, provided quiet does not mean comfortable.