One story, two different interpretations, and finally three films; under the main title The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby with the subtitles Her, Him, and Them. This fragmented storytelling, presented from the contrasting perspectives of the man and woman in the story, is intriguing enough to compel us to watch a film that seems to take a unique approach within its genre.
First, it’s worth noting that this film marks Ned Benson’s debut as a feature director—a bold project he spent seven years developing. His first work, resulting in three interconnected films, is commendable. Benson proves that the romantic genre still has fresh ideas to offer, reaffirming that cinema has not yet exhausted its stories or revealed all its tricks.
The story revolves around a married couple who lose their child, each dealing with this devastating event in their own way. Gradually, their differing methods of coping with shared pain cause friction in their romantic relationship, eventually alienating them from each other. This is the premise of The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby. Interestingly, the title refers to a Beatles song from the 1960s album Revolver, written by Paul McCartney. The song, a poignant reflection on loneliness, lends its thematic weight to the film, turning it into an exploration of solitude or even a testament to the idea that people heal in their loneliness.
Most romantic films follow a predictable trajectory: initial acquaintance, budding attraction, fiery romance, a conflict or misunderstanding that disrupts their dreamlike relationship, and finally, reconciliation. However, this film fundamentally diverges from that formula. It begins with tragedy—a backdrop to subsequent misfortunes—depicting a love that has faded. The woman desperately clings to their connection, while the man seemingly copes better with their crises.
In addition to the distinct cinematography of shared scenes from the couple’s two perspectives, the films highlight subtle differences in each rendition. Notably, the use of “I love you” varies, as does the nuanced way each character views the other, shaped by the audience’s prior exposure to the alternate version. The Him segment starts with an upbeat tone, while Her begins with an intense and unsettling vibe, emphasizing the contrast between the two films. There’s no absolute truth here, leaving the audience unable to judge who is to blame for the couple’s discord. Instead, we witness each character’s subjective perception of the other’s behavior, while the core issue remains ambiguous.
The films’ opening titles also mirror this dichotomy through contrasting colors: red for the woman, evoking passion and nostalgia but immersed in present darkness, and blue for the man, representing a subdued love and memories subtly referenced throughout the story.
As both writer and director, Benson achieves a poetic exploration of pain, dividing the story into two parts for a more detailed confrontation with their emotional turmoil. The singular focus on their emotional disconnect sustains a three-hour-and-twenty-minute narrative across two perspectives, delving into the irrationality of their actions and searching for deeper meaning. The films can be viewed in any order, and even non-sequentially, keeping viewers curious about alternate viewpoints. For instance, a letter written by the man that enrages the woman in Her prompts curiosity about its contents, which Him eventually reveals.
The film portrays the couple, devastated by the loss of their child, as lost children themselves, seeking solace in the embrace of their parents. Both characters form meaningful connections in their solitude—whether through the male protagonist’s friends in Him or the younger sister’s emotional bond with the female lead in Her. These relationships add warmth to the narrative. Him emphasizes friendship, with extended scenes in a restaurant where the protagonist runs a small business, while Her highlights the sister’s presence, leaving a deep emotional impact.
Although the film begins with despair and disillusionment, it subtly conveys hope. In Him, the man seeks stability by relocating and improving his financial situation, while in Her, the woman returns to university, revisiting happy memories as part of her healing process.
However, while Her and Him offer intriguing dual perspectives, Them—a condensed version combining elements of both—feels lackluster. Its standard narrative, likely influenced by studio decisions, diminishes the unique impact of the first two films, becoming repetitive and less emotionally resonant if viewers have already seen the other versions.
In conclusion, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby is worth watching, featuring standout performances by James McAvoy and Jessica Chastain. The film never loses its momentum, masterfully portraying the characters’ emotional struggles and triumphs. Benson’s debut leaves audiences satisfied, heralding the arrival of a thoughtful and talented filmmaker in world cinema.
*Previously Published in Emtemad National Newspaper
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