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“But to sit in a cinema and see someone else’s interpretation of things that really happened to me was overwhelmingly emotional… But then I could see everyone around me experiencing those moments from their own point of view. I realised we weren’t all seeing the same thing. We take our individual selves into a film, and what we draw from it is probably slightly different from the person next to us. But what we did share is that probably 80% of people coming out of the screening were in tears. Just not quite as much as me.” |
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Author of The Salt Path, Raynor Win* |
On the way to the cinema, I mentioned to my wife that I probably wouldn’t be seeing The Salt Path if it weren’t for the enthusiasm of my son who’d recently secured a National Trust ranger’s position on the north coast of Norfolk. I’m just so very glad I did. And how heartening it was to find a nearly full cinema for such a small film. On paper, it seems like a tough sell. It’s ninety per cent two people walking a coastal route and ten per cent grim flashbacks. And I do mean grim. It’s a true story about Raynor and Moth Winn, a middle aged couple who owned a farmhouse in Somerset. Backing a friend’s business venture that accrued substantial debts, the friend sued the Winns and shockingly won, bankrupting the family and leaving them homeless. Some friend. With scant support from the welfare state – boxes were not ticked – the worst was yet to come.
Moth’s ‘arthritis’ was revealed to be a Parkinson’s plus syndrome, known as CBD, a degenerative condition with death predicted at eight years after contraction. And Moth had been living with its attendant pain for years. Raynor and Moth choose to start a 630 mile walk as a way of dealing with the double whammy of homelessness and medical woes. Moth is physically impaired and Ray does her best to support her husband while allowing him a sense of independent dignity, a dignity that his disease is indifferent to. The basics of survival are taken one step and one day at a time.
It doesn’t sound much, does it? I mean, what could happen? Rain? Check. The kindness of strangers? Check. Surly farmers? Check. But that’s not really the point. If you approach this film as a physical and psychological demonstration of profound love between a man and a woman, it’s a very rewarding and absorbing experience. It is based on a best-selling book, after all, a gift from a wife to a husband, one that went on to be published and subsequently found millions more readers. Ray and Moth are beset with every problem human beings could encounter and experience; physical infirmity, a woeful lack of funds, hunger, thirst and a surfeit of very tame rabbits which presumably are supposed to be wild, gambolling around their tent. A relentless tide engulfs them late at night starting a frantic, cold and wet struggle to rescue their meagre nylon ‘home’. Moth is mistaken for the poet laureate Simon Armitage and is taken in by a starstruck family who want the warmth that stardom generates until Ray disabuses them of their error.
But this film’s super power is two of the finest performances I’ve seen for a good long while. Gillian Anderson is and was always a class act. As Margaret Thatcher in The Crown, she became the poster girl for my own cognitive dissonance. How could this intelligent, alluring woman play a reviled one so bloody well? And gone are any beautifying aids. Anderson is raw in the role, seemingly make-up free and as such, she becomes the character as all good actors do. Her northern accent is flawless. She’s supportive of her stricken husband without depriving him of agency and subtly attentive to his every dragged step. Matching her performance is a career best from Jason Isaacs. Known for his theatrical villainy, notably a memorable Captain Hook in Peter Pan (2003), a hilarious turn as Georgy Zhukov in The Death of Stalin (2013), he’s perhaps most famous as Lucius Malfoy, the father of Harry Potter’s nemesis Draco in the eight film series. Moth is on the very lip of the abyss, every concern and worry adding to the weight of his backpack. Isaacs has no fear of showing profound vulnerability and if anything, the excellence of both performances and their interplay make it a harder watch. The two leads make you feel their quiet desperation keenly.
There are moments of humour sprinkled throughout, all of them natural and quietly presented. Of course, the scenery is well worth chewing – this part of the UK is gloriously photogenic – and the pair often spots a peregrine falcon swooping above them, their spirit animal keeping them on the right path. It’s also an excuse for the many drone shots that act as the bird’s point of view that show off the coast in all its wave-crashing glory. Chris Roe’s gentle and yearning small orchestral score scales some eye-wateringly high notes from the strings and accompanies the pair unobtrusively. The scenes don’t require more than a musical nudge to underline the relevant emotional climate. Marianne Elliot’s debut as a film director is unfussy allowing the actors to shine with as little attention called to the camera as possible. Coming from the theatre, Elliot’s primary concern is no doubt with her leads as it should be. Cinematographer Hélène Louvart’s work squeezes the very best from the path’s lush and ruggedly handsome locations and the film is edited by Gareth C. Scales and Lucia Zucchetti who manage to regulate the pace to allow the emotional beats to be timed at regular and satisfying intervals. Adapted from the novel by Rebecca Lenkiewicz, the general buzz is that the screenplay was light on the more socially contentious issues in the book but the film is not poorer for this.
There are a few missteps that seem oddly included. I can only imagine that the director signed off on some shots when the optimum result was not achieved. There is a shot of the two leads starting on their epic trudge which loses Gillian Anderson on the left of frame and Jason Isaacs on the right of frame. The focus on the falcon is often hit and miss (not easy creatures to shoot successfully, granted) and at one point Jason Isaacs either changes his dragging foot from left to right or the shot was ‘flopped’ (right to left becomes left to right and vice versa) for continuity purposes or editing preference. And you could simplify the couple’s plight as ‘the healing power of Nature,’ and not be too far off the mark. And I have already mentioned the rabbits. But these tiny gripes don’t make a dent in the emotional rewards, an aspect with which the audience is well served. The Salt Path’s pleasures are small, perfectly delivered and in three words at the close (not the obvious ones) Anderson declares her love for her husband so loaded with authenticity and emotion, it sends you out of the cinema surreptitiously drying your eyes. It’s still playing in cinemas but it won’t be for much longer. Treat yourself.
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