By Peg Aloi

How often do we see movies that successfully delve into what it means to become a mature adult after a traumatic childhood?

The Chronology of Water, written and directed by Kristen Stewart. Screening at Coolidge Corner Theatre through January 28.

Imogen Poots as Lidia Yuknavitch in The Chronology of Water. Photo: Courtesy of Cannes

“Your life doesn’t happen in any kind of order. Events don’t have cause and effect relationships the way you wish they did. It’s all a series of fragments and repetitions and pattern formations. Language and water have this in common.”

~ Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water (2011)

This auspicious filmmaking debut by actress Kristen Stewart is based on the memoir of writer Lidia Yuknavitch. A talented swimmer whose athletic prowess earned her a college scholarship, she was trained as an Olympic hopeful. Stewart’s screen adaptation of the book is remarkably assured: it transposes the dreamy, highly-personal stream-of-consciousness style of the memoir into an unusually beautiful cinematic story. The script retains the narrative’s haunting language, striking imagery, and emotional power; this was an ambitious undertaking for a first-time filmmaker. At first, at least for some, the somewhat fragmented storytelling approach may feel inscrutable, even off-putting. But, for me, the film’s distinctive visual and auditory language proved to be bewitching, and deeply moving.

The Chronology of Water moves gently back and forth in time, dramatizing Lidia’s difficult childhood, tumultuous adolescence, and challenging young adulthood. The protagonist is played by the astoundingly good Imogen Poots, who seamlessly transitions from the figure’s teenage years to her adulthood. Lidia projects a smart, feisty, yet often strangely subdued personality. Her formative years are marred by periods of impulsive and even reckless behavior, and traumatic relationships. Patterns gradually emerge that suggest Lidia’s complicated relationship with her abusive father, matched by a fierce closeness to her younger sister Claudia (Thora Birch), whom she felt protective toward in their youth, but also sought comfort from as they grew older.

The Chronology of Water does not shy away from examining Lidia’s sexual awakening over the years: this aspect of her journey often feels as if it is the core of the film. These sensual moments veer from raw physicality to epiphanic self-actualization. They are sometimes linked, painfully, to her traumatic past, while at other times they’re expressions of willful discovery and joy. Lidia finds ways to transform and then heal her psychic wounds, but it’s a hard road. The film is not always easy to watch, partly due to its painful underpinnings, but also because the signposts that signify the passing of time are fluid and tonally kaleidoscopic: now immediate and visceral, now hazy and impressionistic. If this sounds like The Chronology of Water is a more psychologically layered than most films, well, it is.

Imogen Poots as Lidia Yuknavitch in The Chronology of Water. Photo: Courtesy of Cannes

Stewart’s bold, artful treatment of this material makes for a strikingly fresh vision of this all too familiar genre. How often do we see movies that successfully delve into what it means to become a mature adult after a traumatic childhood? Such films are often either saccharine and sentimental, or gratuitously brutal. Trauma often fuels an interest in creating art. Once Lidia strikes out on her own after college, she seeks out opportunities to express her individuality — it doesn’t always go well. But it’s thrilling to see her discover that her uncanny gift for writing is uniquely hers — even if it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Lidia takes a creative writing course that doubles as a sort of nature retreat with none other than Ken Kesey (author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Sometimes a Great Notion, and other novels). Played by Jim Belushi (who is actually very good in this role, surprisingly), Kesey comes off as a bit bearish and a bit hammy, but essentially warm and kind. He offers genuinely useful support and advice to Lidia. He is a man she can respect and trust, who also inspires her.

Unsurprisingly, I expect women will respond more favorably to this film than men, but not just because of its subject matter. Stewart’s mise-en-scène invites a sensitive attunement. The visuals are awash with color, light, and texture, while the soundscape thrums with quiet tension, punctuated with an earthy punk-folk-techno score by Paris Hurley. The imagery of water symbolizes many things: emotion, sex, movement, and freedom. It is also an ancient sign of the feminine in nature and art. Lidia’s womanhood is put on display throughout the story, subtly, provocatively, unabashedly. Her sense of self-worth ebbs and flows as she struggles to become whole. The way she both loves and detests her father. The way she’s drawn to men who are either very good for her or very bad for her — and she can’t seem to tell the difference. The way that swimming’s intensity and physicality allows her to channel her passion and energy.

The Chronology of Water does not rely on dialogue-driven scenes or a conventional narrative trajectory. Lidia’s experiences aren’t neatly packaged, chronologically or emotionally. It is the constant presence of her body (diving, swimming, smoking, drinking, crying, fucking, writing, laughing, and screaming) that anchors the viewer in time and place. This is a brave and virtuoso performance, nothing short of career defining for Imogen Poots, who inhabits Lidia with lithe energy and soulful depth. The Chronology of Water is a voyage into demanding psychological territory: Poots makes for a formidable sentinel and Stewart a masterful guide.

Peg Aloi is a former film critic for the Boston Phoenix and member of the Boston Society of Film Critics, the Critics Choice Awards, and the Alliance for Women Film Journalists. She taught film studies in Boston for over a decade. She has written on film, TV, and culture for web publications like Time, Vice, Polygon, Bustle, Dread Central, Mic, Orlando Weekly, Refinery29, and Bloody Disgusting. Her blog “The Witching Hour” can be found on substack.