THE LOST CITY OF Z

Technically, the film is a marvel. Darius Khondji’s seductive lensing is simply beautiful, and mesmerising in its constant probing and studying of landscapes both natural and psychological. The editing is similarly enthralling, as John Axelrad and Lee Haugen craft woozy, elliptical sequences, with one showy match cut in particular that directly brings to mind Kubrick or Lean. Though for the most part the performances aren’t quite as strong, that’s not exactly a dealbreaker. Charlie Hunnam, finally free of the nondescript American accent that flattens all of his other performances, acquits himself well in the lead, excelling in moments of quiet grace – as well as a particularly bombastic display of public oratory in a mid-film sequence that brings some welcome levity to proceedings.

However, it is in the film’s treatment of time, and by extension it’s highlighting of one performer in particular, where things get most interesting.

At this point in her career, it may not be ridiculous to call Sienna Miller the new Thelma Ritter. Okay, yes, it is still ridiculous, but hear me out. After a string of thankless "supportive wife" roles, particularly in ‘Foxcatcher’ and ‘American Sniper’, it seems like almost a meta joke to cast her in this sly subversion of those parts. Because here, her Nina Fawcett is no token attempt at giving the hero something he might lose (but won’t) or a nagging obstacle that he must overcome – she is, get this, an actual character. Crazy, I know. Jokes aside, Miller lets loose what she must have been itching to do on the sets of those other films, as she imbues Nina with charm, wit and a fierce devotion to her husband, but never at the cost of her own agency or desires. Along with her director, they portray her as a sort of proto-feminist, constantly bristling at the ways in which the society she lives in pigeonholes and ignores her, and how her husband occasionally does the same thing.

Best of all, the film has no interest in forgetting about her or undermining her position. Instead, just as the jungle insinuates itself into scenes set in Britain, so too does the spectre of Fawcett’s home life haunt his time in the jungle. She becomes a constant reminder of the price he is paying in pursuing this element of his life, and the fact that each time he comes home his children are played by different actors is a perfect extension of this. Sure, it’s also just a practicality and a practice used by many films, but here it’s given an extra thematic heft. Just as we are meeting new people, so too is Percy. As each trip takes up years of his life, he is forced to reckon with the fact that he is returning home to complete strangers that he helped create.

The film does a wonderful job of crafting a strange, ambling narrative out of the life of a man who defies easy explanation, not least because of the mysterious disappearance that marks him as an infamous figure. But when it does get to that episode, as Fawcett takes on one ill-fated expedition too many, the build up of quiet sadness and wonder is breathtaking. The film’s bravura final image blends together Fawcett’s two worlds in a whimsical yet understated manner, firmly cementing this as a well above average entry into a particularly over-stuffed genre.