“Poots is the glue that holds The Chronology of Water together; the broken pieces around her show Stewart is willing to take risks and not play it safe, but is still in search of her true voice as a director.”

While the jury is still out about Scarlett Johansson’s Eleanor the Great, the Un Certain Regard section, Cannes’ sidebar for young talent with the odd established filmmaker thrown in for good measure, has already played two well-known actors’ first stab at directing on back-to-back days. And while Harris Dickinson, steadily breaking out through roles in films like Babygirl and The Iron Claw, already eschewed the easy route with his gritty tale of a drifting soul in Urchin, his more famous peer Kristen Stewart one-upped him with an artsy and impressionistic story of abuse and how it shapes a life in The Chronology of Water. Screening to a horde of young girls hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol (they got their money’s worth, as Stewart spoke at length when introducing the film), what they were presented with was a fragmentary and close-to-the-skin film that takes some time to find its rhythm and could use a little pruning here and there (Stewart admitted a few days prior this was basically a first draft), but that shows Stewart having a knack for turning avant-garde tendencies and fractured memories into a somewhat accessible narrative, and an ability to direct an actor to a performance that bares it all.

The Chronology of Water is adapted from Lidia Yuknavitch’s 2011 memoir of the same title. A herculean task, as it is one of those books often deemed ‘unadaptable’. Lidia (Imogen Poots) is one of two daughters, though initially it is her older sister (Thora Birch) who gets the brunt of his ire from their strict and abusive father (Michael Epp, in stern spectacles and an even sterner haircut). It doesn’t take long for Lidia to be old enough to get her share of his rage and scorn. The camera looks away from the sexual abuse, much like the girls’ mother (Susannah Flood), and the film never explicitly details it, but the suggestions made are pretty clear. Lidia tries to drown her abuse in the pool, where she is a competitive swimmer, earning several college scholarships based on her athletic prowess; none of them are full scholarships though, something that provokes her father’s stinging disappointment. She does eventually find her way into college, and suddenly life starts to smile at her. Alcohol too, and drugs. And men. The first two make her swimming career sink; the men that come and go will cause toxicity in her life. With the first, an all-too-friendly and timid college sweetheart (Earl Cave), she is the toxic one. A marriage can’t save that, and a stillborn baby seals the deal. The second one (Tom Sturridge) is the provider of toxicity in a relationship full of alcohol and drugs during which Lidia tries to complete a novel, inspired by a short stint with a famous writer (James Belushi), the first man in her life to truly believe in her. The third and last one (Charlie Carrick) is the charm and provides the stability she needs to finally put the damage done by the most toxic man in her life, her father, behind her.

Yuknavitch writes in snapshots, comparable to the works of Charles Bukowski (after whom Belushi’s character seems to be somewhat modeled). In the opening segments of The Chronology of Water Stewart visually mimics that style, offering up a string of images and short moments, jittery and jerky, with a crackling soundscape and vaguely poetic voice-over. Grainy close-ups of a woman, never a whole woman, fill the frame. It feels like the experimental work of a first-year film student trying to find their footing, but at some point there comes a rhythm to it. We get to know the woman as Lidia, we get to learn the abuse that she is subjected to. Still, scenes are never fully formed and more like shards of memories, dropping in and out of moments in which Lidia or her sister suffers the kind of physical or psychological blows that mar a life. Even though Stewart never abandons this style of filmmaking for the rest of the film, a narrative, more or less chronological with the odd flashback to Lidia’s childhood, starts to emerge from the murky waters of a string of hazy recollections. The film spans the better part of two decades (in which miraculously Poots’ character hardly seems to age), an epic story of a woman working half her life through the effects of an abusive childhood.

Stewart’s efforts to piece Lidia’s memories together have their limitations because of the incomplete and at times incoherent nature of the ‘scenes’ that comprise those memories. That leads to doubt whether some of these ‘moments’ should have made it into the final cut (although, as said, the version screened in Cannes is likely not the definitive one), and especially towards the conclusion the film suffers from ‘too many endings’ syndrome. Yet The Chronology of Water always compels, as Stewart is not afraid to experiment and stray from the beaten path. Her partner in crime, Imogen Poots, is a big reason the film works and is watchable, as Poots’ ferocious, no-holds-barred performance creates out of the fragments a wholly formed character and a woman to root for, making the happiness she eventually finds all the more fulfilling. The film is probably too outre to be a factor in awards conversations come end of the year, but Poots fully deserves to be in them. She is the glue that holds The Chronology of Water together; the broken pieces around her show Stewart is willing to take risks and play it safe, but is still in search of her true voice as a director.