With several short films and a 2018 debut feature under her belt, Lithuanian director Marija Kavtaradzė has already displayed a deep understanding of – and affection for – Lithuania's young adults. In some ways Kavtaradzė's sophomore effort Slow is about that tricky navigation into ‘proper' adulthood. Where promising and hopeful teenage years have given way to a mid-20s malaise, an affliction that seems to have contemporary dancer Elena (Greta Grinevičiūtė) in its grasp. As she delivers her dance workshop for deaf teenagers, she's joined by sign language interpreter Dovydas (Kęstutis Cicėnas), and the two start a slow-burn romance.
The pair don't lack chemistry, but the sparks aren't quite flying. Dovydas's asexuality keeps up a level of restraint that Elena initially struggles to decipher. It's a fact that once admitted, plays on her mind like poison, feeding on her own insecurities. Elena's sense of self-worth seems intrinsically tied – perhaps toxically so – to being desired. The result of harsh words during childhood. As a dancer, she seems acutely attuned to her own body and the feelings of sensuality and sexuality that dance, movement, and touch offer her. Dovydas's inability to experience sexual arousal feels personal. An attack on her desirability.
Kavtaradzė's camera lingers on Elena as she moves through her studio, at times wrapped up with other male bodies or engaged in yearning looks. Sweat and hair seems to stick to her skin and lips. Yet Dovydas and Elena have their own physical language, no less connected, and Kavtaradzė invites us in, with the camera hovering alongside the playful couple during comfortable silences, in-jokes or moments of intimacy. As such, the film asks what we know about asexuality – the ‘invisible orientation' – and how closely a relationship stripped of sex can mirror those that mature beyond the spark of the honeymoon phase. As asexuality goes, it's an important piece of representation. “I can't say sorry every time” says Dovydas as once again their affection builds up to nothing more. But it's more than just lip service to an underseen community. It questions the nature of love in a fresh and tender way, whilst contextualising Elena's lack of understanding. Is it just too much to ask of her?
There's elements of Joachim Trier's The Worst Person in the World or Richard Linklater's Before Sunrise in its breezy combination of romance and gentle, millennial humour. And both Grinevičiūtė and Cicėnas are superb in carrying a film where not an awful lot happens. Yet its seemingly rushed ending makes it feel slight in comparison and it lacks a sense of progression that would give the film more depth. Too soft to match the snap of the romcom greats, but not quite deep enough to elicit a strong emotional response, Slow is a little too slight when stacked up against its contemporaries.
Slow is in cinemas from Friday 24 May
