Daniel Day-Lewis returns to the screen in Anemone, a film that boldly confronts the weight of guilt and the complexities of masculinity—and it’s a sight to behold. But here’s where it gets controversial: Without Day-Lewis’s magnetic presence, this movie’s heavy-handed drama and macho-sensitive narcissism might have felt like a slog. Even with him, the dialogue occasionally stumbles, leaving you wondering if a drama teacher is about to shout, ‘And… scene!’ Yet, Day-Lewis’s unparalleled ability to command the screen—his theatricality, his raw intensity—makes him utterly captivating. He’s not just playing a former army sergeant here; he’s embodying a man grappling with neglect, anger, and a past he can’t escape. And this is the part most people miss: the film, co-written by Day-Lewis and his son Ronan (who also directs), feels deeply personal, almost like a father-son reckoning.
Day-Lewis stars as Ray, a reclusive ex-solder living in a remote British forest in the late 1990s. His life is stark—ascetic, even—yet he finds solace in cultivating anemones, a nod to his late father. Watching him, I couldn’t help but think: someone needs to cast this man as Timon of Athens. His portrayal of Ray is a masterclass in restrained fury and wounded pride. But the plot thickens when Ray’s brother Jem (Sean Bean) arrives, pleading with him to return to his estranged family—a family Jem has quietly taken over as husband and father. Ray’s teenage son, Brian (Samuel Bottomley), has followed in his father’s footsteps by joining the army, only to spiral into violence. Here’s the kicker: both father and son are drowning in toxic masculinity, and their only hope is to confront the pain they’ve inherited and inflicted.
The film doesn’t shy away from big themes—guilt, trauma, redemption—but it’s Day-Lewis who anchors it all. His Ray is a man haunted by his past, particularly his forced exit from the army after a tour in Northern Ireland. And this is where it gets tricky: the film tries to absolve Ray of any real culpability, which feels like a cheat. Yet, Day-Lewis sells it with such conviction that you almost believe it. He’s like an exiled emperor, regal even in his ruin.
Anemone is a film that wears its ambition on its sleeve—big scenes, big performances, and even bigger emotions. Not every moment lands, but Day-Lewis’s presence keeps it grounded. It’s a movie that demands your attention, even as it grapples with its own flaws. But here’s the question I’m left with: Does the film’s reliance on Day-Lewis’s talent excuse its occasional missteps, or does it highlight them? Let me know what you think in the comments—I’m curious to hear your take.
