Through the power of the mother-daughter connection, director Cory Choy’s feature film debut Esme, My Love acts as a poignant meditation on life and loss. Set in the sprawling backwoods of an isolated forest, this relationship-based drama between a young mother and her terminally ill daughter captures not only the timeless beauty of all living things but also the mysterious possibilities of a life beyond Earthly existence.
Esme, My Love is told through the lens of magical realism. A gentle hum opens the film under an echoey voiceover between Hannah (Stacey Weckstein) and her young daughter, Esme (Audrey Grace Marshall). What initially seems like a somewhat spontaneous camping trip quickly becomes something more intentional. The next few days are spent hiking and camping in the woods until the pair eventually reach an abandoned farmhouse. The house, rickety and clearly left vacant for several years, is what Hannah is hoping holds the key to unlocking precious memories for Esme before it’s too late.
From there, the film unravels into darker and more mysterious territory. Hannah’s desperation to connect with her daughter before she loses her for good becomes more erratic and psychologically draining. Esme’s more subdued nature reflects one of acceptance, even if she doesn’t fully realize her condition and fate, while Hannah’s distress continues to agitate Esme. Esme doesn’t understand her mother’s persistent pleas to recall memories and therefore grows more frustrated day by day. But Hannah will stop at nothing to make this connection with Esme one last time.
The film was completed over six years and is considered a micro-indie in every sense of the word. Some scenes were shot on an iPhone because of faulty camera equipment (but you would never be able to tell which moments). The surroundings are beautiful, color-corrected like a big studio movie, and shot with such detail. The intimate two-person cast and outdoor setting no doubt was a cost-effective choice but it also works so well for the story that director Cory Choy is trying to tell. The atmosphere feels complete when it’s set against composers Stephanie Griffin and Charlotte Littlehales’ mesmerizing score. The heaviness of the music–which includes violin, strings, and synth–adds to the claustrophobic nature of the situation.
In Esme, My Love, audiences bear witness to a layered spiritual horror film. It is a slow burn in a lot of ways and doesn’t make the character’s intentions immediately clear. Like Esme, it’s easy to get confused about what is happening – what is real and what is surreal – but trust in the film’s narrative journey will lead you to the other side with acknowledgment of this powerful filmmaking feat.
