A dysfunctional family gathering for a special occasion (be it a wedding or a funeral) has long served as a ripe dramatic backdrop for a reason. What better excuse to bring together a motley crew of characters who know exactly how best to push one another’s buttons and dredge up long-simmering resentments in the process? If Kristin Scott Thomas’ “My Mother’s Wedding” never quite reaches the heights of that well-worn genre, it is not for lack of trying. Equal parts Anton Chekhov and Richard Curtis, her directorial debut ends up being a sweet if rather modest family affair.
The premise of “My Mother’s Wedding” is as straightforward as its title suggests. Sisters Katharine (Scarlett Johansson), Victoria (Sienna Miller) and Georgina (Emily Beecham) gather for one weekend at their childhood home to bear witness to their mother’s third wedding. Twice-widowed Diana (Scott Thomas) has seemingly found love again. Only, what’s supposed to be a celebratory family weekend instead becomes an emotional ticking bomb as each of Diana’s three daughters (a Navy officer, a movie star and a nurse) is forced to grapple with their tragic pasts, their stunted presents and the glimmers of possibility that await them in their futures ahead.
Lording over this sun-dappled weekend in the English countryside (“Wild” and “Big Little Lies” cinematographer Yves Bélanger opts for a brightly lit aesthetic throughout) are the memories of the fathers these three now-grown-up girls cannot seem to let go of. Katharine has gone into the Navy like John Frost, her and Victoria’s father. And while his death in action makes for great talk show fodder for her sister, who is an actor, the stoic Katherine has devoted her career to honoring his memory instead. It may be why she struggles in how to honor Johnny Monson, Georgina’s father (and John’s best friend), who came into their lives for an all-too-brief moment before he, too, went missing in action. Such a fractured and tragic family story has evidently wounded her and made it all the harder for her to be more unguarded around those she loves and who wish to love her.
A defter script might have more gracefully painted such a rich and engrossing family portrait. But given the complicated backstory required to understand Diana and her daughters, it’s not surprising to find the first third of “My Mother’s Wedding” getting bogged down with endless expository dialogue meant to set up the increasingly thorny family dynamics at play when they all finally get together. Add in the intersecting storylines regarding each of the sisters’ romantic prospects (which include a wild and surprisingly raunchy subplot involving a hidden camera as well as a more superfluous one involving a helicopter) and you keep wishing Scott Thomas had wrangled this frayed but loving family within a more disciplined endeavor.
As it is, “My Mother’s Wedding” feels like a party where you both barely get to meet all the guests there assembled and yet are overwhelmed by the endless chatter about their lives they share with you the moment you greet them. One moment you’re finding your footing with regards to the drama involving Katharine’s partner (played by Freida Pinto), and the next you’re called to be invested in Diana’s future husband, the cheekily named Geoff Loveglove (James Fleet). It’s all a bit of a pity because Johansson, Miller and Beecham make for quite a trio. When the film slows down and lets them relish in the sisterly bond that so clearly holds this family (and film) together, Scott Thomas’s debut feature sings. There’s a loving care these actors bring to these parts, no doubt borne out of the first-time director’s long storied career — and the personal connection she so obviously has with the material at hand.
The film is dedicated, as a title card at the start of the credits states, to Lt Cdr Simon Thomas RN 1935-1966 and Cdr Simon Idiens RN 1933-1972: “In my memory of my fathers,” it reads. The story of these sisters haunted by the loss of two fathers all those decades ago, is quite personal for Scott Thomas. Along with her husband, journalist John Micklethwait, Scott Thomas has crafted a screenplay that used memories of her twice-orphaned childhood into a launchpad for the kind of tale that feels like a welcome combination of her most cherished projects. The actor is well-known for her work on screen in “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” “The English Patient” and “Gosford Park” (and on stage in plays like “Three Sisters” and “The Seagull”). Which is to say: she is no stranger to ensemble-driven stories about how we can never escape the ghosts from our pasts. And how, perhaps, the only way through such challenges is with warm, spry humor.
On paper, “My Mother’s Wedding” feels like a perfect vehicle for Scott Thomas. And the actor-turned-director does exhibit great talent at eliciting wonderfully lived-in performances from her game cast. How refreshing it is to see Johansson working on such an intimate scale, lending her talents to a woman stuck between the life she’s long oriented herself toward and the one she may well need instead if she’s to build the family she never had. Similarly, Miller is a joy to watch as she (and Scott Thomas) relish satirizing a modern movie star who just wants to be taken seriously and not be wooed by rich assholes who can barely see beyond the façade she offers the world.
Yet it all never quite gels together as seamlessly as it should. By the time issues of parenting, partnerships, and paternal remembrances all come to the fore (teed up with some animated interstitials throughout), “My Mother’s Wedding” feels like it’s only getting started. Only by that point, wedding and film are winding down, instead, into an all too neat conclusion. No sooner have you settled into its familiar rhythms and begun to enjoy the way these sisters rely on one another (and have been irrevocably shaped by their wry no-nonsense mother) than Scott Thomas whisks us away and calls it a day. Armed as it is with plenty of heart and some lovingly textured performances, “My Mother’s Wedding” is ultimately much too shaggy and baggy a proposition to land its emotional gut-punches. It’s the kind of family gathering that neither exhausts nor excites—for better and for worse.
