Memory, Masking, and Mental Illness in Aftersun — Perspectives on Global Health

By Bridget Li

Aftersun is a movie made up of small moments. It doesn’t follow the markers of a conventional plot, such as a rising action or dramatic climax. The ending is hazy and left largely up to the viewer’s interpretation. For some, it may be a boring watch. There’s no fast-paced dialogue, no CGI spectacle. Instead, Aftersun is about the memory of a loved one. The story follows an eleven-year-old girl as she tries to piece together a constellation of memories with her father.

Charlotte Wells’ film is set in Turkey, where a young Scottish father takes his daughter on vacation. They have a loving, playful relationship. Calum has planned the trip just for the two of them: he teaches Sophie to swim; they go snorkelling together; he helps her put on sunscreen. We see Sophie as she begins to come of age: she starts hanging out with the older kids, she hears people talk about sex for the first time, and shares her first kiss with a boy staying at the same resort.

Slowly, subtly, and intimately, Wells disrupts the idyllic peace of the resort by revealing the true nature of Calum’s mental health. We see him reading books about meditation and Tai Chi. He tells Sophie that he never felt a sense of belonging in their hometown. When she tries to coax him into singing karaoke with her, he declines. Ultimately, he feels he isn’t good enough for her. Sophie surprises him by getting a group to sing for his birthday, but he doesn’t smile at the gesture. The scene cuts to him crying alone in the hotel room. Sophie tells him that sometimes she feels empty and sad after a happy day while he brushes his teeth. He spits toothpaste at his reflection in the mirror, furious with himself that his daughter might inherit his depression.

The movie hints at Calum’s suicidal ideation. He has a conversation with the diving instructor, saying “I can’t picture myself at forty—I’m surprised I even made it to thirty”. He teaches Sophie self-defence, subtly suggesting that he won’t always be around to protect her. One of the final shots shows Calum walking into the ocean at night. The camera lingers on the frame for a few minutes, but he doesn’t appear. The two part ways at an airport, leaving the audience to question: is this the last time they see each other?

It becomes clear that the movie is about Sophie’s memories. A good portion of the movie is filmed by Sophie using a camcorder. Wells’ directorial choices evoke childhood nostalgia through bright colours, sunshiny beach scenes, and lingering shots of the pool. We see glimpses of an older Sophie watching the tapes back, trying to remember and understand her father.

Wells’ film is lauded as one of modern cinema’s most accurate portrayals of depression. Calum isn’t framed against a backdrop of stormy clouds and dark interiors—he’s in a beach paradise. He isn’t alone; he’s travelling with his favourite person. In doing so, Wells portrays how mental illness can permeate the happiest moments of someone’s life.

Depression can be omnipresent and seep into the everyday. Because of this, someone can mask how they really feel, even from those they love the most.

At the same time, Wells offers an incredibly moving portrayal of grief. The film captures the experience of growing older and realizing you never fully understood the struggles that your parents went through during your childhood. It’s about returning to your memories and carefully dissecting them, trying to piece together someone’s inner life after they’re gone.

Ultimately, Aftersun shows the power of film in penetrating emotions in ways other mediums cannot. Art communicates meaning in a uniquely visceral way, shedding light on mental health in ways that an academic paper or Ted Talk simply cannot. Through its stunning cinematography and quietly devastating performances, the film invites viewers not just to observe Sophie’s memories, but to reflect on their own, reminding us how fragile, incomplete, and precious our understanding of the people we love can be.