On Chesil Beach

Although the book, which charts the wedding night traumas of a naive young couple in pre-Swinging Sixties England, has plenty of the qualities that usually make for compelling drama, it pivots on a scene of sexual frankness rarely seen in respectable cinema.

Sharply scripted by the author himself, the film introduces Edward (Billy Howle) and Florence (Saorise Ronan) at dinner in a stuffy Dorset hotel, then spins back to explore their courtship, and contrasts. He’s a bumptious country boy looking to escape the boredom of home life; she’s a studious violinist raised in stifling academia. They may be gauche, but the stage is all set for a happy life together. Only it doesn’t quite turn out like that.

Slowly simmering from a comedy of manners to a savage showdown on the eponymous beach, it’s a handsome film, although you can’t help feeling that the lopsided casting is because no male stars of Ronan’s stature wanted to play Edward.

The problem – and it’s a biggie – is one of timing. On the page, 10 years ago, what both characters wanted seemed reasonable, their problems stemming from a mismatch of sexual expectations and an inability to talk about them. Onscreen, however, post-MeToo, we’re essentially watching an angry man berating a crying woman for refusing to f-ck him, and what began as a conversation about sex, becomes a conversation about sexual assault. It’s a necessary one, but the film, like its characters, cannot recover.Hide