The latest film from the director of "Colossal" revolves around a heartbroken man who joins a drug-testing program that reunites him with his deceased girlfriend in his dreams.
After the death of his girlfriend Daniela (Beatrice Grannò of The White Lotus), Nicolas (Henry Golding of Crazy Rich Asians), the protagonist of Nacho Vigalondo's Daniela Forever, falls into a deep depression. Grief clouds everyday life, slowing down time and silencing once-pleasurable activities. Piles of laundry and dirty dishes, precariously stacked on the kitchen countertops, measure his uneven motivation. The atmosphere is somber, and Nicolas, a Madrid-based DJ, feels trapped. So when an opportunity to find relief from his painful memories presents itself, he is intrigued.
Director: Nacho Vigalondo
Writer: Nacho Vigalondo
Stars: Henry Golding, Beatrice Grannò, Aura Garrido
Premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival, Daniela Forever is a reverse version of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, mixed with the sci-fi preoccupations of last year's Fingernails. The film follows Nicolás as he embarks on an experimental drug treatment to alleviate his depression through lucid dreaming. Instead of erasing his memories, a pill allows him to conjure a false world in which Daniela is still alive. He can relive familiar moments, like when they first met, as well as create new scenarios by blending his childhood memories with more recent ones. Vigalondo's film has a compelling premise, but the story (he also wrote the screenplay) eludes him, resulting in a film that never quite hits its stride.
Before Daniela Forever derails with a series of disappointing twists, it draws us in with a visual style (cinematography by Jon D. Domínguez) that distinguishes it from others with a familiar premise: grief, dreams, and the technology that can erase the former and make the latter come true. Nicolás's reality is presented in a claustrophobic 4:3 aspect ratio and the dull, grainy aesthetic of a classic camcorder. Vigalondo (director of Anne Hathaway's unconventional 2016 sci-fi film Colossal) uses widescreen and sharper images for Nicolas's dreamlike world. Here, the colors are more vibrant, and the atmosphere borders on the unsettling.
The story opens with a flashback. We hear the disembodied voices of Nicolas and Daniela discussing, like lovers, the details of their first meeting. She was on the dance floor watching him, the DJ of an underground club, as he worked. Did he notice her? Of course, he says. No, she retorts. A mutual friend sealed the deal by formally introducing them later at a party. But wait, Nicolas interrupts. The details are lacking. The friend (Rubén Ochandiano) has glistening skin in this scene, as if he'd been shot in broad daylight, while his surroundings are bathed in the purple glow of night. The dream turns into a nightmare as Nicolás recalls his last moments with Daniela, who died in a car accident shortly afterward. He wakes up and is alone.
Vigalondo's script quickly describes how Nicolás learns about this secret drug program and how he becomes a rebellious patient. Researchers instruct him to read specific instructions, written to evoke certain memories, before taking the pill. But after spilling water on one of the cards, rendering it illegible, Nicolás thinks of Daniela and discovers he prefers that dream world. To conceal his actions, he lies during his daily interviews with the scientists.
Most of Daniela Forever observes Nicolás moving between his reality and the dream world, avoiding one while yearning for the other. The troubled DJ spends his days waiting for the night to reunite with Daniela. The script vaguely outlines the details of his waking life, but the real action takes place in his dream world. Although Vigalondo offers compelling insights into the mechanics of lucid dreaming—how Nicolas controls scenes and what dream Daniela is remembering—the director doesn't do much more. The story lacks purpose and disappoints with its lack of interest. Vigalondo hints at some complex threads in Nicolas's personality, but never delves deeper. Instead, Daniela Forever resolves any tension before it can be confronted.
Golding and Grannò, who both deliver excellent performances, are not rewarded for this narrative approach. There are scenes where Golding can be seen stretching the boundaries of his character, presenting his actions as the twisted decision-making of grief. Nicolas's depression drives him to make dangerous choices that jeopardize his well-being, his studies, and, ultimately, the dream version of Daniela. But the actor's efforts bog down in a story seemingly uninterested in that kind of uncomfortable complexity.
The same goes for Daniela (Grannò), who at one point seems to possess a consciousness of her own, like Samantha in Spike Jonze's Her. Her character—a digital artist struggling with her own depression—is confusing when considered within the logic of the film. From what we know of dreams, they are constructed from lived experiences, rarely from the experiences of others.
Daniela Forever is a disconcerting film that seems unsure of its own resolution. As Nicolas becomes more affected by the differences between his dreams and reality, the film also loses its purpose. And that doesn't inspire much confidence, even in the most complacent viewer.
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