It isn’t often that a screenplay shines so brightly in a film that has such sparse dialogue, but the impact of Never Rarely Sometimes Always is felt more in what is left unspoken than what is presented to us explicitly. It is in the loaded implications of the word “magical” used to pointedly describe a fetus’ heartbeat. It is in a silent, meaningful touch between cousins Autumn and Skylar as the latter commits an act of sacrifice. And during the most stirring scene of the film, it emerges in a single long take in which Autumn answers a series of questions about her pregnancy, only ever using one of the four words from the movie’s title, yet expressing her entire emotional journey in the process. The screenplay is minimalistic, but every word is chosen with careful precision so that the subtext can always be felt.
Director and writer Eliza Hittman also brings an immediacy to the text by rejecting any explanation of what led Autumn to seek an abortion, refusing the audience any opportunities to make snap judgements based on the details of the encounter. We never discover who impregnated Autumn, but we get an idea of the circumstances and the pain it continues to cause her.
Hittman’s cinema verité approach to directing the camera through the streets and subways of New York brings an unpolished rawness to Autumn’s journey, focusing primarily on close-ups and tracking shots that rarely cut away from either her or Skylar’s face. It is surprising how few wide shots can be found here at all, especially given the temptation to capture New York’s lights and buildings that seem almost designed for the movie screen. But the New York of Never Rarely Sometimes Always is not a city to marvel at, but rather a confusing, claustrophobic, and inhospitable labyrinth. If the film drags a bit in its middle section, it is not an accident. Hittman wants us to sit through every moment of mundanity that Autumn experiences, though this can be particularly punishing when there is little going on stylistically.
Through it all, it is Sidney Flanigan’s understated performance that grounds each scene. It would be easy to initially brush the role off as one that demands little ability, but that would be a mistake. It gradually becomes clearer why Flanigan is so well-suited to playing Autumn, as the pressure to secure a safe abortion builds to a crescendo, reaching its peak in the scene mentioned above that contextualises her pregnancy. The questions she is asked become more personal, and before any other sign of breaking her face turns a quiet shade of red. We are forced to sit with her as she relives these painful memories, and though their details are never elucidated, her complicated emotions associated with them emerge distinctly.
The centring of Flanigan’s performance above all else allows this film to transcend the usual stories told about abortions, emphasising the present-tense, first-person perspective. What came before is entirely irrelevant in the decision itself, and is only significant to Autumn’s journey in the way she now relates to others and herself. It is not just a credit to Hittman that she is able to draw this performance out of such a young actress, but that she was also able to so poignantly shape the busy, troubling world that moves around her.
