'On Chesil Beach' Somehow Actually Holds Up

On Chesil Beach is an unusual story and, judging by the disbelieving chuckles in the audience (though sparse and immature), not one to convince the masses. Nevertheless, for a story to feel unusual and, further, unpredictable is a great feat; it is what makes the film so gripping. In essence, nothing much happens during the 110-minute runtime. The basic premise and narrative could so easily be boring, but the mystery of it, each scene carried by diegetic and non-diegetic (are you impressed with my knowledge!!!!) classical music, will leave you gawping at the screen. Your eyes will fix on those most English of settings — the countryside, Oxford, Henley, Dorset, London — and the costume design, distinctive of each era without succumbing to caricature. The ending is, however, more pathetic than tragic, and really rather anticlimactic.

Based on the novel by Ian McEwan (which I have not read), On Chesil Beach is the story of a wedding night in 1962. No, really, that’s the whole plot. The action takes place the evening after Florence (Saoirse Ronan) and Edward (Billy Howle) are married, in a seaside hotel room on Chesil Beach, on the Southwestern coast of England. Scenes from the night are interspersed with contextualising flashbacks and subsequent time hops, so you don’t have to stare at the awkwardest of sex scenes for going on two hours. Both newlyweds are, ostensibly, virgins and both lean heavily into hyper-gendered expectations of consummation (good Lord), epitomising the worst of what the Judeo-Christian regulation of sexuality can do to young and impressionable people. And that’s it. That’s the crux of the drama. But for several reasons and to a certain extent, the narrative works.

First of all, Saoirse Ronan takes a really difficult role and runs with it, all while putting on a spotless British accent. Second of all, and although it’s somewhat unclear what conclusions on sexual freedom and gendered sexuality the film ultimately draws, it does lend screen time to some complex issues that still pervade our contemporary culture, namely systemic male entitlement and gendered double standards — both of which are too toxic to bear.

There is a particularly poignant scene where Florence laments Edward’s “demands,” which she says she’s “no good at,” to which his horrifying knee-jerk response is to assume she means money (she comes from a richer family). He has this response although there was very little previous indication that money might be a problem, and although the only truly undeniable problem is and remains sex. Edward's reaction points to a deep-rooted belief that Florence’s body belongs to him already (he reminds her of her vow, “with my body I thee worship”), that her body has nothing left to “give” him and therefore she must mean she is no good at giving other material things.

Finally, there are several ways to interpret Florence’s reluctance to engage in intercourse. The question of asexuality arises, but is tangibly brushed off by subsequent events — although, did Florence fit on the asexual spectrum, she wouldn’t have come across the term until much later, and even then it more than likely would have been used as a pathologising insult. The interpretation we are more plausibly nudged towards is the God-fearing maiden trope. TBQH, if the only access you had to information on sex was your vicar and a vile sex manual from the library that is both graphic and judgemental, placing intrinsic moral value on intercourse, you would be scared too. Now let’s all give thanks for the internet and the various women’s movements of the past centuries, amen.

7/10