The Chronology of Water, Kristen Stewart’s first feature film as a director, is an adaptation of a memoir by the same title from fiction writer, poet, and essayist Lidia Yuknavitch. Yuknavitch grew up in San Francisco and Florida in the 1960s and ‘70s, was encouraged by a supportive school coach to become a competitive swimmer, and got a sports scholarship to a college in Austin, whereupon her addiction to alcohol and other drugs derailed her potential Olympics career. She then careened through relationships, sexual acting out, and self-harm, until—moving to Oregon, she discovered that she could write—and after much effort, became a published writer in the ‘90s and since. But the missing element in this life description is that she was repeatedly raped by her father as a girl. The trauma was like a whirlpool that threatened to destroy her until she finally emerged into recovery in her late 30s.
I hesitated before detailing all this for you, because in the film, the story is not presented in a linear fashion. I saw it without having read the book, so it required paying attention to piece together the objective facts. And I like it when a film expects that kind of effort. I decided, though, that it doesn’t matter if you already know the outline or not, because the experience is still so intense. It’s not easy to make films in a subjective style like this, where the whole point lies in the consciousness of its subject. But it almost seems as if Kristen Stewart has been doing this for years.
Stewart’s style is close to a cinematic version of pointillism in painting: many brief shots going back and forth in time to convey a reality in which past and present flow together in one turbulent stream. The extended opening of the film is all staccato imagery and close-ups: moments of urgent memory mostly centered on the abuse and its emotional effects. The film allows longer scenes and cuts as it goes on, but it’s always permeable, past and future always seeping in to the present.
Lidia is played by the talented English actress Imogen Poots. She’s done a lot of supporting work and a few lead roles over her career, but this—this is the performance of a lifetime. In a part that requires constant intimate close-ups, she’s compelling and extremely vulnerable. Her poetic voice-overs guide us through the chaos, while the subtle variety of her expressive powers conveys the full force of a rebellious personality. Thora Birch is great as Lidia’s supportive sister, who was also abused by their father, and managed to escape earlier from the household.
When Lidia moved to Oregon, she became part of a writing workshop run by the famous “merry prankster” and author of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” Ken Kesey. In a brilliant bit of casting, Kesey is played by Jim Belushi, whose work here is as far from his usual comic roles as you could imagine. Kesey is a difficult character, but he supports Lidia without reserve, telling her there’s no doubt that she can write.
The symbolism of water is everywhere in this movie. It’s the murkiness of repressed memory, the fluidity of time. It’s also Lidia’s tears and menstrual blood, and ultimately the ocean of our unconscious mind. Stewart persists in stubbornly foregrounding the subjective—you should know that this is not an easy watch or a comforting one. Inner demons are squarely faced. The Chronology of Water visually purges the psychic forces that prevent us from knowing and being who we are.
