‘Enys Men’ Review: Mark Jenkin’s meditative homegrown experience
Few British filmmakers have arrived in the contemporary industry with the same seismic eruption as the Cornish director Mark Jenkin. A patriotic auteur, specifically for the small corner of England’s south-west coast, the homegrown filmmaker has carved out his own creative niche from the salty soil of the county itself, shooting on grainy 16mm celluloid, which looks and feels as if it has been washed up on the sands after being touched by generations of fingerprints.
Making a name for himself following the release of his breakthrough film Bait in 2019, a film that challenged the rigid formalism of the modern film industry and the gentrification of one of the country’s poorest counties, Jenkin’s follow-up was always going to attract significant attention. Enys Men, which translates to ‘Stone Island’ in Cornish, feels like the spiritual continuation of Bait – a carefully crafted cross-section of historic Cornish folklore that taps into the heart of the county’s culture.
A haunting drama that takes place on an uninhabited island off the Cornish coast in 1973, Jenkin’s film is far more barren than his previous work, following one lonely soul in search of solitary truth. Practically the only living soul who roams the wind-swept island, the film follows a lonely wildlife volunteer (Mary Woodvine) who records the daily observations of a rare flower as she navigates the land’s forces, both real and imaginary.
More aimless and ethereal than Jenkin’s previous film, Enys Men feels altogether more personal than Bait, a spiritual companion piece that continues the director’s own philosophical musings towards the county where he was born and raised. Whilst Bait centred on a socio-political core for stabilisation, Jenkin’s is far happier to let Enys Men flow with the same graceful experimentation as his early short films Enough to Fill Up an Eggcup and Bronco’s House.
Like an old-wives tale written on battered parchment, Enys Men is an occasionally haunting yet constantly hypnotising ghost tale that focuses not on just one spectre but on a whole land that teems with an omnipotent presence. Though packaged by some as a ‘horror’ piece, the film shuffles with more psychedelic intentions, with these ghouls being different from ones you may find occupying a satanic puzzle box or a dusty loft.
Instead, the ghosts of Enys Men exist with a calming inevitability, as if the eerie echoes of past generations sending warnings from ethereal ritualistic plains. The unnamed protagonist lives among these spectres and treats their presence with a tranquil acceptance, dedicating her life to the ritual of keeping the island’s extraordinary flowers alive as if they were the flourishing veins of the respiring land.
It all makes for quite astounding filmmaking, giving audiences an alternative insight into modern British cinema, feeling more like an innovative art installation than a piece of narrative fiction. Not only does the 16mm bubble and crack as if it were alive with living memory, but the soundtrack also squeaks and cries, making the experience an immersive dive into the folklore of an immortal lost world.
Exploring mortality and hereditary ritual with surprising grace, Enys Men washes over you like the lapping Cornish waves, leaving you in a wondrous meditative state.
