Queen at Sea is a film about intimacy, caregiving and consent. It’s a movie about the moment we decide that consent can be given autonomously, and the moment that autonomous decision-making ends.
Over recent years, many films have explored the onset, impact and devastation of dementia both on those living with the condition and the families and loved ones attempting to care for them. From the underrated Supernova (2020) to The Father (2020) and Still Alice (2014), these films have unpacked the emotional turmoil of memory loss and cognitive decline, offering insight and sparking discussion. However, despite the power, emotion and beauty of these movies, one topic has remained largely unexplored: consent. It’s a tricky topic that requires the utmost care and attention to detail when exploring its complexity, and that is precisely what writer and director Lance Hammer achieves in the intimate, haunting and powerful Queen at Sea.
The legal definition of sexual consent in the United Kingdom states that someone consents to sexual activity if they agree by choice and have both the freedom and capacity to make that choice. If someone says ‘no’ to any kind of sexual activity, they are not agreeing to it. But if someone doesn’t say ‘no’ out loud, that doesn’t automatically mean that they have agreed to it either. But how does this apply to someone with dementia? And how does it relate to a married couple where one has dementia, and the other is the caregiver? For those living with dementia, their ability to give consent may fluctuate, and sex, therefore, becomes a challenging topic for all involved, particularly their partner.
Set in London, Hammer’s film (his first since Ballast in 2008) wastes no time in setting the scene for what becomes a harrowing, intensely intimate portrait of a family facing impossible questions. Amanda (Juliette Binoche) has recently divorced and taken a sabbatical from her academic role to move closer to her ageing mother, Leslie (Anna Calder-Marshall), with her teenage daughter, Sara (Florence Hunt), in tow. Leslie was diagnosed with dementia some time ago, and things have steadily got worse over the past twelve months. She now drifts in and out of the here and now, and conversation has all but vanished. She is cared for by Amanda’s stepfather, Martin (Tom Courtenay), who is himself in the twilight years of his life.
It’s clear from the outset that Martin and Amanda’s relationship has often been strained over the years. That strain is about to reach boiling point when Amanda makes a surprise visit to her mother and stepfather’s home, only to find Martin and Leslie having sex, a vacant look adorning her mother’s face. It’s not the first time the subject of sex has been discussed with Martin, with her mother’s GP having already advised that Leslie can no longer give meaningful consent. However, Martin has done his own research and claims that marital sex continues to be important to Leslie, and discussions around meaningful consent are vague. It’s clear Martin loves his wife, and he has dedicated his later life to her care. But does that make his actions right?
Furious and disturbed by what she has witnessed, Amanda phones the police and sets in motion a series of events she immediately regrets as the legal system takes over, classifying the event as possible rape. Leslie is taken for invasive medical tests to determine any damage, something she neither understands nor can consent to, which in itself creates a challenging discussion about how the state defines consent when it comes to dementia. At the same time, Martin is prevented from seeing Leslie, her caregiver and security ripped away. As Amanda searches for a way out of the snowballing situation, Leslie’s admission into a care home seems to be the only way to stop proceedings in their tracks. Meanwhile, Amanda’s daughter Sara enters into a relationship with a boy at her new school as she considers giving her own consent to sex for the first time.
Hammer’s film is agonising and heartwrenching in the decisions Amanda and Martin face, and in the confusion and uncertainty facing Leslie as her condition further deteriorates while the state demands action. Here, the complexity of the themes and conversations presented could well have overwhelmed any cast, but driven by the powerful and truly exemplary performances of Tom Courtenay, Anna Calder-Marshall, and Juliette Binoche, Hammer’s film navigates the tricky terrain with compassion, sensitivity, and honesty.
Queen at Sea is a film about intimacy, caregiving and consent. It’s a movie about the moment we decide that consent can be given autonomously, and the moment that autonomous decision-making ends. These are challenging debates, especially when they surround a parent who requires 24/7 care. Amanda knows her daughter is now ready to make her own decisions in her relationships, and only cares that she is careful and finds the right boy. But does her mother have the autonomy to consent to her husband? And what does consent even mean when every caregiving decision is taken out of Leslie’s hands?
There are no clear-cut answers, just as there aren’t in life, in a film that embraces a Ken Loach-style of social realism throughout, allowing us, as observers, intimate access to some of the most challenging moral and ethical questions and decisions a family will ever face.
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