By Leah Matthews, Third Year Classical Studies
3pm. Friday, 21 February 2025
Today’s second film is another directorial debut, this time from the English director, Rebecca Lenkiewicz. Prior to entering the Palast, I was in conversation with film journalist Dana Knight, who described Hot Milk as ‘simply average’. Whether her comment tinted my perception of the film or not, she wasn’t wrong. However, it is not average across the board. The film oscillates between mastery and a lack of, ultimately levelling out to, well… average.
Hot Milk follows Rose (Fiona Shaw) and her daughter Sofia (Emma Mackey), as they travel to the Spanish coastal town of Almería to seek treatment from Dr. Gómez for Rose’s mysterious, undiagnosed illness, which has left her wheelchair-bound. Beneath this medical pursuit, however, lies a deeper narrative—Sofia’s struggle as the sole carer of her manipulative mother. This tangled web of trauma gradually unravels, for better or worse, aided by the enigmatic bohemian, Ingrid.
One of the film’s greatest strengths is its compelling storyline, rich with complexity and sharp commentary on parental manipulation and emotional trauma. The sun-drenched landscapes of Almería provide a striking visual backdrop—reminiscent of Luca Guadagnino’s ‘Desire’ trilogy—offering a contrast between the idyllic setting and the unsettling themes. The camera’s gaze acts as Sofia’s obsessive voyeur, its intimate stare rarely ceasing to assess Sofia’s face and body, which forges an intimate bond between protagonist and spectator. We care for Sofia, we understand her turmoil. Mackey responds to pressure of persistent close-ups with a masterful performance, exploring the spectrum of trauma and repression with delicacy, yet such force. Shaw, as always, fully inhabits her character. Rose is undeniably an antagonist, yet Shaw allows humanity to seep through her villainy, just enough to evoke sympathy, but never quite enough to elicit empathy. The film’s second triumph was these performances, they were outstanding.
However, Hot Milk is polluted by an overwhelming sense of stagnancy. The near-total absence of a score is a deliberate choice to build tension, but it instead drains energy from the film. A 93 minute film should feel tight and compelling, yet Hot Milk drags, I was yawning and twitching, and unfortunately, yearning for the credits. The film flicks between scenes of Sofia in various predicaments, few of which are noteworthy or remarkable. The scenes rarely linger long enough to reach their full development, resulting in a frustrating sense of incompletion. That said, Hot Milk’s ending is striking and powerful, a final and successful attempt to reclaim audience’s lingering minds.
Ultimately, though, a truly great film should never allow its audience’s minds to wander. And that is what defines Hot Milk: moments of brilliance, let down by a lingering sense of detachment. In the end, it remains, well… simply average.
Hot Milk will be released in UK cinemas on the 30th May.
