Days of Wine and Poses: Mundruczo Dances Around the Trauma
Hungarian filmmaker Kornél Mundruczó aims to repeat the critical acclaim following his Academy Award nominated femme-centered English language debut Pieces of a Woman (2020) with At the Sea, which is so similar in tone both films could share the same title. While Amy Adams turns in an expectedly nuanced performance, it feels a bit for nought, surrounded as she is by a labored narrative about an alcoholic ex-ballerina fresh out of rehab and struggling to return from being adrift over one particularly strenuous weekend. Mundruczó’s scribe, Kata Weber (who has penned four of his previous features) finds itself mired with aggravating cliches about unhappy childhoods and escapist fantasies at the seashore, tying everything up together a bit too resolutely (and more unfortunately, predictably).
Laura Baume (Adams) has been released from an expensive rehabilitation facility after a sixth month stint. A traumatic car accident, in which she had been driving her young son Felix (Redding L. Munsell) while under the influence, led her to sobriety. Returning to her childhood home in Cape Cod, her husband Martin (Murray Bartlett), a painter, has been struggling to keep the family afloat financially and emotionally. Teen daughter Josie (Chloe East) has been acting out, forced to serve as surrogate mother to Felix, who avoids his mother initially on her return. But it’s Laura’s dance company, which she inherited from her father, a world famous choreographer, which is taking up the most mental space. The institution and career which previously defined her is on the verge of collapse without her. But childhood traumas, intertwined with her addiction issues, make it seem like this is a world she can no longer inhabit.
What feels most egregious about At the Sea is how it never feels fully invested in the specific backdrop defining its characters, where a troubled dance company with a dysfunctional history is on the same precipice as its protagonist. Rather than explore the resonance of this world (a la Todd Field’s Tar, 2022), Mundruczó constantly splices random flashbacks of the young Laura (who we only see at one specific age, played by the same young actor), navigating a maze of abstract poetic flourishes, such as a fantasy dance sequence to a cover of Lykke Li’s “I Follow Rivers.” These memory sequences consistently drain what little tension the narrative builds in present day Cape Cod. The casting also doesn’t quite align in these sequences, with Laura’s oblivious father resembling Angelin Preljocaj dressed as some kind of Eurosleaze disco star traipsing about dance stages.
The dramatic culmination, at a party (always a bad idea for someone who just squeaked out of rehab) taking place at Laura’s seaside manor, is meant to celebrate the tenuous company’s uncertain future, and where she will announce the truth of her whereabouts for the past six months. None of this goes according to plan, and the twin confrontations with her desperate ex-assistant Dan Levy and inebriated teenaged daughter Josie are moments which never reach an authentic zenith.
Murray Bartlett shares some interestingly emotive moments with Adams, suggesting a dedicated aim to orchestrate a specific chemistry between an artistic couple who don’t appear to be adept at communicating. A host of supporting players tend to distract, such as an onerous Rainn Wilson as a company benefactor, and his ex-wife Jenny Slate, who gets more character development than the children with her new Italian lover in tow. A handsome dalliance with a stranger on the beach, played by Brett Goldstein, who is conveniently a recovering heroin addict, provides us with some symbolic details Mundruczó can’t help but repeat for metaphorical closure in the final moments. And it’s a finale which simply confirms At the Sea is trying too hard for justifiable resonance.
Reviewed on February 16th at the 2026 Berlin International Film Festival (76th edition) – Main Competition. 112 mins.
★★/☆☆☆☆☆
