Never Rarely Sometimes Always
focus featuresThough the title may be knotty, Never Rarely Sometimes Always is a sparse film when it comes to dialogue. Information and emotions are often conveyed through subtle glances and a shared feeling, with the extended silences being more powerful than the words uttered. Fresh from the acclaim of 2017’s coming-of-age drama Beach Rats, Eliza Hittman has crafted a tender yet unflinching tale of teenage abortion and young womanhood.
Whereas Beach Rats was a portrayal of sexual awakening, Never Rarely Sometimes Always examines the consequences of such things for young women. Autumn Callahan (Sidney Flanigan) is the heroine here, a shy 17-year-old from Pennsylvania who balances an ordinary yet somewhat cold family life with snide chauvinism from her male cohorts at school. Amidst all this, a local doctor and her store-bought test confirms Autumn’s suspicions that she is, indeed, pregnant; comically, she is told that a “negative result could be positive, but a positive is always positive”.
Matters are complicated further due to her personal situation in Pennsylvania, with state laws dictating that parental consent must be obtained in order to perform an abortion on a minor. Fearing repercussions from her mother (Sharon Van Etten) and step-father (Ryan Eggold), Autumn enlists the help of cousin and co-worker Skylar (Talia Ryder), with the pair taking a road-trip to New York City in order to find a suitable clinic which can keep Autumn’s plight confidential.
The theme of voicelessness permeates the film, focusing on the consequences of ostracisation and abuse; Hittman, crucially, never gives a face to the abuser who sets these specific events in motion, but rather shines a light on the deep-rooted attitudes that facilitate such heinous acts of voyeurism and misogyny. Whether it’s their loathsome boss who gropes the pair at the end of every shift or a persistent traveller in the form of Theodore Pellerin’s Jasper, harassment looms at every juncture for both Autumn and Skylar, giving the film an oppressive atmosphere that is both uncomfortable and unshakeable.
This is emphasised by Hittman’s effective camerawork, with the mixture of cinema-verite inflected close-ups and tranquil passages creating a push-pull dynamic throughout. Whilst Autumn is simultaneously pressured yet lonely in her world, the viewer’s relationship with her is both claustrophobic and distant, with stretches of elusiveness being punctuated by moments of intimacy. This is made possible by Flanigan’s nuanced performance, a truly remarkable feat given her status as a newcomer; a scene in which past abuse is revealed is utterly devastating, with Hittman wisely refusing to pan away from Flanigan’s emotive face. Ryder is similarly delicate in the role of the more personable Skylar, with her bubbly outlook of the early passages slowly disappearing as she’s gradually worn down by her experiences.
With the subtle change in appearances, whether it be noticeable bags under the eyes or more bedraggled clothing, Hittman manages to create anxiety in an otherwise stoic film, making every minute of sleep feel like a precious moment. The second half of the film operates much like a horror feature, with rare moments of respite being cherished in a piece that is largely uneasy; the grounding in reality makes for an even more horrifying experience. With this unrelenting focus on character, certain contextual elements like anti-abortion protests feel like they could be developed a little further, but this is an empathetic and compassionate film that focuses on the voiceless. How this imbalance can be rectified is up for debate; whether it’s four simple words or two intertwining pinkie fingers, films like Never Rarely Sometimes Always will certainly help.