To quote Major Garland Briggs in Twin Peaks, one of the nagging, underlying fears in any relationships is that “love is not enough.” Sure, love is an essential component, the limiting reagent that ensures the chemical reaction can proceed. But to guarantee a successful melding of two souls requires more than that. It’s a dance of compatibility, of needs that may be working in tandem or against each other. And the success of a relationship can come down to how honestly the two people engage with each other to resolve these issues. In Marija Kavtaradze’s raw, intimate, beautifully moving Slow, two lovers do their best to reconcile their love for each other with not only their warring desires but also their own insecurities.
Set in Lithuania, the film centers on the budding relationship between Elena (Greata Grineviciute), a contemporary dancer, and Dovydas (Kestutis Cicenas), a sign language interpreter for the deaf. In one of our first glimpses of Elena, the camera follows close behind her as she glides across the dance studio floor. Similarly, the first time we meet Dovydas, he stands in front of a greenscreen, facing the camera as he provides interpretation for a pop band, moving his hands gracefully, clearly giving a performance of his own. These two introductions immediately set the kinetic look, and feel, of the film. The visual style is grounded in reality by the cinematography, which is unfussy and gritty, evoking the feel of a movie made in the 1970s. Kavtaradze’s camera frequently highlights bodies in motion, gliding in and amongst the actors. This helps to telegraph the importance of physicality in both of the characters’ lives, telegraphing their kinship and signifying that physical connection will play a major role in their relationship.
They first meet when Elena hires Dovydas to sign for a deaf dance class she’s instructing, as they prepare to do a dance recital by the sea. Their initial interaction is awkward—who’s this tall, strange man walking into her studio? But they quickly, almost preternaturally, become at ease with each other, sharing an unspoken physical comfort with the other. He waits for her after the first class and the two go on a walk together, slowly bonding and feeling each other out. Their relationship slowly develops in this fashion, adapting to each other the more time they spend together. In a cute example of this, the first time Dovydas comes to the studio, he’s wearing mismatched socks, unaware he has to take off his shoes. The second time, he comes prepared, taking off his shoes without asking, matched socks at the ready. Gradually, as their connection becomes clearly romantic, it’s apparent that the two are drawn to each other physically. And then Dovydas casually drops a bombshell on Elena—he’s asexual.
The rest of the movie is influenced by this revelation, and what it means for the two lovers. As Dovydas explains it, he’s not sexually attracted to people, and never has been. He likes her though, and wants a relationship with her. This is initially difficult for Elena to process, as she interprets it as him not being into her, not attracted to her. He reassures her, and they cautiously decide to move forward with each other, to try.
The chemistry between the two actors is so naturalistic and unforced that it rivals any relationship I’ve seen on screen. Given their penchants for physical expression, these are two characters who often feel more comfortable showing than telling. So many of their interactions are wordless, silent. In one sweet interlude, Elena accompanies Dovydas to a deaf wedding. Though there’s no music, Dovydas pulls out two AirPods, putting one in his own ear and giving the other to her so that they can dance together. It’s a touching and generous gesture, one that demonstrates just how emotionally intimate Dovydas is able to be with his partner, to a degree that most men likely (frankly) aren’t able to.
Which in turn makes their incompatibilities all the more disconcerting, and their attempts to resolve them heartbreakingly human. Though Dovydas is refreshingly candid about his sexuality, and Elena is accommodating and allows him room to be himself, their conflicting desires and insecurities eventually come to light. This is made apparent in their sexual encounters, which feel commendably authentic, as the two awkwardly try to give the other what they need. When the two are attempting to be physically intimate, it becomes clear that there’s a hurdle to overcome, though the question is whether or not it’s insurmountable.
The movie makes the nuanced argument that it’s not their physical needs that proves to be the challenge. It’s not simply that Elena wants sex, and Dovydas can’t give it to her. That’s a reductive oversimplification, insulting to both the filmmaker and the characters. Rather, it’s what their conflicting physical needs says about their own expectations that matters. Elena, despite Dovydas’s reassurances, worries that he’s not into her, and any perceived physical rejection from him only intensifies that. She also worries that when he does show her physical attention, that he’s only doing it out of a sense of obligation, not that he wants to. Similarly, despite Elena’s reassurances, Doydas worries that he can’t be the person she needs, that he’s not giving her what she wants. This emotional tug of war becomes the driving force of the movie, leading the two to a conclusion that feels tender, real, and endlessly relatable. Anyone who has ever been in a relationship will feel seen watching this movie.
This is a tender, intimately crafted film, told with love and respect for both its characters and the audience. Even the sex scenes, often filler in other movies, are a key part of the plot, driving their relationship forward. The director had an intimacy coordinator on set, not solely to work out the mechanics of the scene, but mostly to help the scenes go deeper, to focus on what that specific physical encounter is saying about the characters. The two characters are the heart of the film, and the actors embody them beautifully, all their warmth on display but also their rough edges, their faults. In the final scenes, we again see Dovydas signing a pop song to the camera, but this time, it feels different. His movements feel more balletic, more painfully poetic. This is a different Dovydas than the one we first met, and the lyrics beautifully sum up the film’s ethos and the two lovers’ journey: I yearn to tear myself in two/Never mind the pain/What once was and will be.
