She Loved Blossoms More

Bluesky

The last few years, since the arrival of Covid, have seen a flood of new films exploring grief, but nothing has probed the disorientation it creates quite like She Loved Blossoms More. Premièred at Tribeca in 2024, Yannis Veslemes’ visually stunning film went on to wow audiences at Fantastic Fest before washing up at Fantaspoa. It follows three brothers who, some time after the death of their mother, find themselves still unable to accept a future without her. Each reinforcing the others’ obsession, they also come under pressure from their eccentric and unstable father, and fixate on the idea that if they can build a time machine then they can somehow bring her back.

Filtered as it is through the brothers’ use of hallucinogens, the story can be hard to follow, not least because it branches off into alternate dimensions. In one of these, two of the young men become trapped as, indeed, people often become trapped in grief, unable to separate the present from the past. Doubtless aware of the narrative challenge this presents, Veslemes’ invests most of his effort into developing his ideas (and those of co-writer Dimitris Emmanouilidis) at a thematic level – and, of course, in those breathtaking visual elements. The interweaving of these extremes with mundane elements of day to day life – a party guest at one point protests that she’s uncomfortable about using the toilet because “A chicken without a head is tied to the bath” – acknowledges their absurdity with a dry humour that suggests the brothers are aware of how ridiculous their situation looks, even when they are hopelessly enmeshed in it.

As has been noted before, stories in which women’s deaths are used to drive stories that are all about men are not a favourite here at Eye For Film, and that is something of a problem here despite Veslemes’ efforts to do something different. It’s understandable that he wouldn’t want to develop the character of the mother much because one of the key ideas in the story is that who she is now exists only within the distorted memories and imaginations of the male characters, who idolise her in a way which doesn’t leave much room for a real person. It’s unfortunate, however, that the other significant female character (who happens to share her name with a tortoise) is also sidelined. Only in one scene do we get a glimpse of her personality, as she moves like a siren among the reeds in the outdoor hot tub, asking her lover to bite her. What happens to her subsequently would be far more impactful if we knew her better. Her supporting role in the brothers’ tragedy elides her own.

This approach to women contributes to the feeling that this is a rather old fashioned film – as does its distinctly Eighties-style electronic score. Furniture from a variety of periods, and Act Deco flourishes throughout, contribute to the sense that we are never quite in the familiar present, adding to the overall atmosphere of dislocation. The diurnal cycle is disrupted too as the brothers sleep at random times. Their shortage of funds contributes to keeping them cooped up in their rambling house and gardens in Athens, cutting them off from wider society, with people only visiting to deal to them or get wasted. Although they can theoretically move through time – albeit in rather an unsafe way, with sometimes shocking side effects – they are unable to move in space, just as they are unable to get away from themselves.

This limited spatial movement is, of course, advantageous to a director who also has limited funds. Veslemes does an excellent job of building his remarkable world out of simple everyday objects. The spectacular visual effects are less a product of slick new technology than of pure imagination, and they really are unforgettable. Even if you fail to be immersed in the drama – which, despite the quality of the acting, is somewhat hit and miss – the film will stay with you.

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