Sea Without Shore review – dancing to the heart of grief

A sense of desolation … Sea Without Shore

There are downsides to the digitalisation of cinema, but one of the benefits is that more projects like this strange, rather entrancing and unapologetically niche-serving dance film can get a limited theatrical release. It’s certainly the kind of work that’s better off seen in a darkened space with minimal distractions in order to best surrender to its spell.

Co-directors Andre Semenza and Fernanda Lippi explore a woman’s (Livia Range) grief after she loses her lover (Lippi herself, also the choreographer) of whom she still has visions. As the two, clad in quasi-Victorian frocks, dance around a Swedish forest, frozen lake and sparsely decorated mansion, excerpts from writings by Katherine Philips, AC Swinburne and Renee Vivien, translated into Swedish, are intoned solemnly in voiceover.

There’s no discernible narrative, but cinematographer Marcus Waterloo’s twilight-hour visuals, Glenn Freemantle’s subtle, layered sounds, and the Hafler Trio’s music create conspire to create a lyrical sense of wintry desolation.