45 Years

It's a common assertion: there's no such thing as a soulmate.  How, in this world of billions of people, could there be only one for us?

And yet, even the most rational person wants to believe they're special.  That their partner chose them because they were unique in some way.  We don't want to think of love as some mechanical process, a chance meeting in which sparks fly because of aesthetic preferences shaped by nature and nurture, repeated copulation releasing hormones that engender goodwill, shared experiences building up fondness over the years.  You could do that with anyone.

Such is the disturbing realization hovering over "45 Years," a film about a couple celebrating their anniversary.  The body of an old lover of the husband's--she had died falling into a fissure in a glacier --is discovered, bringing back powerful memories.  Slowly the wife learns just how much the girl meant to him, culminating in a shocking revelation.  The film could be viewed as the most low-key horror movie ever made.  The sound editing mirrors the ominous buildup, as howling winds and tolling bells slowly invade the couple's previously idyllic life.

"45 Years" ends on a simple, heartbreaking moment that feels worthy of Old Hollywood.  The film doesn't offer much commentary on the situation, but I'll throw something out: the tragedy is, it's nobody's fault.