Writer-director Lance Hammer’s new film “The Sea Queen” is an experience worth living in its own right, as well as a piece of scathing, unintentional criticism: This is the kind of movie “The Fjords” could and should have been. The latter film, released earlier this month, tells the story of a religious family living in Norway who endure invasive legal investigations and interventions when teachers suspect parents of corporally punishing their children. “Queen of the Sea” also faces the interference of government authority in private life. This is the story of Leslie (Anna Calder-Marshall), an elderly woman in London suffering from dementia, whose husband Martin (Tom Courtenay), who is the same age as her, is caught having sex with Leslie’s daughter Amanda (Juliette Binoche). Convinced that Leslie would not be able to consent, Amanda asked Martin to promise not to have sex with her mother again. Martin refused, so Leslie called the police – just to scare him, she later admitted, but by then it was too late. Her call immediately launched a criminal investigation, Martin was arrested and the family became the subject of scrutiny by police and social workers.
Unlike “The Fjords,” which never showed corporal punishment, no matter how mild, even to the parents’ admission, “The Sea Queen” explicitly shows Amanda witnessing a sexual act within the first few minutes of the film. With genuine curiosity, Hamer honorably puts the family’s own experiences and principles, their morals and knowledge, to the test before the force of the law. When two police officers arrived, they followed procedure: They cordoned off the couple’s bedroom as a crime scene and reported the case to their superiors, who ordered technicians in hazmat suits to collect the couple’s bedding and dispatched a sex crimes investigator, who insisted that Leslie be taken for a medical examination. For Leslie, who had only a vague awareness of her surroundings, this process of intimate intrusion was an unbearable torture.
Martin, for his part, denies the premise of Amanda’s anger: he believes that Leslie, although severely damaged, was still aware of his identity and existence, and did initiate sexual relations with him. In reality, Leslie’s impairment was variable. At times, she spoke tersely but wisely, and her actions often clearly expressed reasonable preferences. The old couple’s relationship was tense yet tender. Leslie has a set routine with Martin and pays close attention to them (for example, taking him on his daily walks). When the authorities insisted on sequestering them in their home, she returned to him persistently and unequivocally.
Martin insists on maintaining a sexual relationship with Leslie, without any component of male space or ideology. He is neither ignorant nor dismissive of the concept of consent. Rather, he sincerely and respectfully believed that she had consented because of his privileged relationship with her. What’s more, the movie provides on-screen evidence of this, even though Amanda thinks Leslie is simply reverting to pre-rationality and primal instinct. Martin may seem selfish, but he is also very sensitive to Leslie and the gestures and facial expressions she uses to communicate. He refuses to rule Leslie outside of connection and consciousness. His belief in her consent and even desire is inseparable from his unwillingness to let go of her and the interconnectedness of their life together.
With heartfelt, finely tuned performances from the cast (particularly Calder-Marshall’s shockingly infinitesimal turn and Courtney’s finely tuned fury), Hammer captures the decisive moment with understated precision. During the initial police visit, one of the officers admitted to his colleagues that he did not know what to do. (They continued to do what they were trained to do: file complaints and fire up the powerful and ruthless machine.) After the couple’s sheets and blankets were confiscated as evidence, Leslie insisted on returning to bed and lying on the bare mattress. A risk assessor sadly considered the height of the stairs when inspecting the house, even though Leslie had lived there for many years and apparently managed the stairs multiple times a day. These details reflect how bureaucratic power—with its rigid procedures and constraints—changed the basic order of things. Hammer progresses through the drama step by step, sticking to its rhythms rather than delving into its gaps. His cinematic look at the couple is subtle, patient, and nuanced, though it falls short of the obsessive intimacy and scorched-earth horror of Gaspar Noé’s 2022 film “The Vortex.”