‘Rose of Nevada’ review: Fishermen unexpectedly become time travelers

No matter how trapped you feel in your circumstance, remember: Things could always get worse. That cruel realization haunts the cash-strapped protagonist of English filmmaker Mark Jenkin’s transfixing, increasingly despairing “Rose of Nevada.” This story of two strangers who take a job on a fishing boat — their lives are irrevocably altered once they return to shore — slowly pulls you inside its disquieting design. By the time you get your bearings, you’re ensnared in its net.

On the shore of a nondescript, decaying seaside town, a boat that went missing 30 years ago suddenly reappears. This modest trawler, the Rose of Nevada, no longer contains its doomed crew and yet here it is, without explanation and ready for new fishermen. Piloted by Murgey (Francis Magee), a stereotypically crusty captain, the boat welcomes Nick (George MacKay), a devoted husband and father of a young daughter, and Liam (Callum Turner), a sullen drifter. Nick and Liam have little in common except a desperate need for work. Spending a few days at sea, they bring in a huge haul, but it’s apparent these two men will never be friends: Nick just wants to provide for his family while Liam is only thinking about his next pint.

When they get back to land, though, they discover they’re bound together by a bizarre new reality. At first, the change is imperceptible but Nick notices that his sleepy village seems more vibrant, more populated with people. The cars are older models. And, most alarmingly, Nick’s home doesn’t belong to him — and his wife and daughter aren’t there. His wizened next-door neighbors (Mary Woodvine and Adrian Rawlins) are younger, mistaking him for their son Luke, a former crew member of the Rose of Nevada who died by suicide. Grabbing a newspaper, Nick learns the horrible truth: Somehow, he has traveled back to 1993 and been placed in Luke’s former life.

For Nick, this strange turn of events is devastating, but Liam is delighted after being embraced by local beauty Tina (Rosalind Eleazar), who believes he’s her husband, Alan, who vanished along with the boat. Liam relishes his unearned good fortune while Nick futilely tries to explain to everyone that something is terribly wrong. The irony is brutal: For years, Nick was stuck in a town with limited economic prospects, but at least he had his beloved wife and little girl. Now he has nothing.

Those unfamiliar with Jenkin’s work may come away from “Rose of Nevada” as disoriented as Nick. Starting with his 2019 breakthrough “Bait,” he fashions handmade movies that eschew modern filmmaking techniques. Shooting on 16mm with a Bolex camera and insisting on his actors delivering their lines through ADR once filming is completed — a strategy that leaves the characters feeling unmoored from their surroundings as well as themselves — Jenkin not only directs but also writes, shoots, edits, composes and handles the sound design.

The control he wields over his movies, which include the 2022 psychological creeper “Enys Men,” is in service of stories with a brittle, intentionally imperfect quality. Flash frames, scratches and specks of dust pop up randomly on the screen. Close-ups are consciously too close. The performances exude a stilted stiffness. Everything that the casual moviegoer would consider “wrong” about Jenkin’s approach is what makes his films so transcendently jarring as they seemingly disassemble in front of our eyes.

The director’s moaning score here, supplemented with sputtering engines and clanking chains, underline the movie’s ghost-story vibe — the sense that poor Nick is both alive and dead. MacKay imbues this inarticulate everyman with a guarded vulnerability. The character’s earnest desire to be a reliable breadwinner quickly gives way to sinking panic once he recognizes that he is marooned from his family, even though he’s living in the same house, albeit long before they’ll be there. He struggles in vain to outsmart his cosmic purgatory — most poignantly during an ill-advised attempt to write his wife, which leads to a moment of such piercing sadness it’s worth worrying if Nick will end his life like the fisherman for whom he’s been confused.

“Rose of Nevada” provides no clues as to why this unplanned journey into the past has happened, which will only inspire the viewer to seek them out anyway. Jenkin has suggested his latest is a commentary on sacrifice and community, but any concrete theory of “Rose of Nevada” risks allowing his enigmatic puzzle to lose its shattering spell of mystery and foreboding. Jenkin puts together his bespoke films like tactile, fragile curiosities — it’s as if the battered reels have been fished out of the water, their origin unknown. Anguished and alone, Nick is similarly cast away, seemingly cursed to spend the rest of his days forsaken in his hometown, now a foreign land. Is the movie falling apart or is he? For the adventurous, the question could be hypnotizing.

No matter how trapped you feel in your circumstance, remember: Things could always get worse. That cruel realization haunts the cash-strapped protagonist of English filmmaker Mark Jenkin’s transfixing, increasingly despairing “Rose of Nevada.” This story of two strangers who take a job on a fishing boat — their lives are irrevocably altered once they return to shore — slowly pulls you inside its disquieting design. By the time you get your bearings, you’re ensnared in its net.

On the shore of a nondescript, decaying seaside town, a boat that went missing 30 years ago suddenly reappears. This modest trawler, the Rose of Nevada, no longer contains its doomed crew and yet here it is, without explanation and ready for new fishermen. Piloted by Murgey (Francis Magee), a stereotypically crusty captain, the boat welcomes Nick (George MacKay), a devoted husband and father of a young daughter, and Liam (Callum Turner), a sullen drifter. Nick and Liam have little in common except a desperate need for work. Spending a few days at sea, they bring in a huge haul, but it’s apparent these two men will never be friends: Nick just wants to provide for his family while Liam is only thinking about his next pint.

When they get back to land, though, they discover they’re bound together by a bizarre new reality. At first, the change is imperceptible but Nick notices that his sleepy village seems more vibrant, more populated with people. The cars are older models. And, most alarmingly, Nick’s home doesn’t belong to him — and his wife and daughter aren’t there. His wizened next-door neighbors (Mary Woodvine and Adrian Rawlins) are younger, mistaking him for their son Luke, a former crew member of the Rose of Nevada who died by suicide. Grabbing a newspaper, Nick learns the horrible truth: Somehow, he has traveled back to 1993 and been placed in Luke’s former life.

For Nick, this strange turn of events is devastating, but Liam is delighted after being embraced by local beauty Tina (Rosalind Eleazar), who believes he’s her husband, Alan, who vanished along with the boat. Liam relishes his unearned good fortune while Nick futilely tries to explain to everyone that something is terribly wrong. The irony is brutal: For years, Nick was stuck in a town with limited economic prospects, but at least he had his beloved wife and little girl. Now he has nothing.

Those unfamiliar with Jenkin’s work may come away from “Rose of Nevada” as disoriented as Nick. Starting with his 2019 breakthrough “Bait,” he fashions handmade movies that eschew modern filmmaking techniques. Shooting on 16mm with a Bolex camera and insisting on his actors delivering their lines through ADR once filming is completed — a strategy that leaves the characters feeling unmoored from their surroundings as well as themselves — Jenkin not only directs but also writes, shoots, edits, composes and handles the sound design.

The control he wields over his movies, which include the 2022 psychological creeper “Enys Men,” is in service of stories with a brittle, intentionally imperfect quality. Flash frames, scratches and specks of dust pop up randomly on the screen. Close-ups are consciously too close. The performances exude a stilted stiffness. Everything that the casual moviegoer would consider “wrong” about Jenkin’s approach is what makes his films so transcendently jarring as they seemingly disassemble in front of our eyes.

The director’s moaning score here, supplemented with sputtering engines and clanking chains, underline the movie’s ghost-story vibe — the sense that poor Nick is both alive and dead. MacKay imbues this inarticulate everyman with a guarded vulnerability. The character’s earnest desire to be a reliable breadwinner quickly gives way to sinking panic once he recognizes that he is marooned from his family, even though he’s living in the same house, albeit long before they’ll be there. He struggles in vain to outsmart his cosmic purgatory — most poignantly during an ill-advised attempt to write his wife, which leads to a moment of such piercing sadness it’s worth worrying if Nick will end his life like the fisherman for whom he’s been confused.

“Rose of Nevada” provides no clues as to why this unplanned journey into the past has happened, which will only inspire the viewer to seek them out anyway. Jenkin has suggested his latest is a commentary on sacrifice and community, but any concrete theory of “Rose of Nevada” risks allowing his enigmatic puzzle to lose its shattering spell of mystery and foreboding. Jenkin puts together his bespoke films like tactile, fragile curiosities — it’s as if the battered reels have been fished out of the water, their origin unknown. Anguished and alone, Nick is similarly cast away, seemingly cursed to spend the rest of his days forsaken in his hometown, now a foreign land. Is the movie falling apart or is he? For the adventurous, the question could be hypnotizing.