The Chronology of Water 2025 Movie Review Trailer Poster

To be honest, it's almost impossible to put aside my thoughts and explain the film "The Chronology of Water." The film explores the memoirs of Lidia Yuknavitch, narrating her chaotic life in an even more chaotic way. I haven't read the book, so I can't comment on that, but Kristen Stewart's directorial debut is an incredibly excellent piece of work that will make you feel like you're trapped underwater from beginning to end. While it's a terribly disturbing story about loss, abuse, and self-destruction, there is a glimmer of hope when you manage to surface, right at the end of the film.

The cathartic moment is nice, plain and simple. It's just an ordinary day at the lake, but it's so profound that you might be surprised by how different it is from the rest of the film, where in some parts you really can't quite grasp what's going on. Ironically, although the film is titled "The Chronology of Water," it's not actually chronological at all, and that's something I can try to put into perspective. But, in reality, the understanding of this film arises from within because, like water, it is fluid, recursive, and variable in every sense. It is simply an understanding of trauma represented through water in acts that immerse you in the depths of this story.

Director: Kristen Stewart
Writers: Kristen Stewart, Lidia Yuknavitch
Stars: Imogen Poots, Thora Birch, Jim Belushi

Lidia was traumatized as a child by a sexually abusive father who cared only about control and power. Lidia's only respite was the love of her older sister, and on the other hand, her mother was complicit with her father and never did anything to remedy the years of abuse they suffered. Lidia's relationship with water begins here. We only see fragmented memories of her childhood. It is so traumatic that we don't want to know what really happened. There are images of blood, but it flows with the water; each time we see it, it is almost as if it is being washed away and swept away. Water is a symbol of purity; it purifies the soul, but it can also drown and suffocate you. The same could be said of family. Lidia's path to a better life began with her connection to water, specifically when she started swimming competitively.

I think the book's title stems precisely from this experience. Water is an escape for Lidia, but it's also water she feels with every inch of her body, in her memories, both good and bad. It's water that flows within her, but she decides which memories she keeps and how. As a teenager, her love of swimming helped her simplify her life and make it disciplined. It changed over time because swimming allowed her to make people proud; it also allowed her to be away from home and be herself. We see dozens of shots from below, watching her swim above us in vast blue waters because she swims more freely, and also when she's happiest. That's probably why she was so good at it. In fact, it's water that takes her to college, and although she gets a partial scholarship at every university she applies to, which further frustrates her father, at least she gets to leave.

Lidia's unfortunate childhood circumstances led to an even worse college life. While that would have been the perfect way to put the past behind her and forget it, the situation intensified at the start of adulthood. In a very difficult scene to watch and listen to, Lidia describes how her father told her about everything men did to her when she was at university. As if he hadn't done far worse things, long before. This shapes Lidia's idea of adulthood, in my opinion. It leads her to want to experiment sexually and to push herself to the limit in any way possible, and that is reflected in her alcoholism. Lidia tries multiple sexual partners but finds no satisfaction. Until she meets Philip, who is completely fascinated by Lidia and attracted to her in every way. A humble musician who acts as the beach where Lidia's waves crash endlessly.

There's a moment in the film where Lidia talks about how much she hates her father, but also how much she once loved him. When she's with Philip, she's essentially a different version of him, and although the abuse she endures is of a different kind, Philip is willing to put up with it all because he's the ocean she's chosen to dive into. Lidia's addiction keeps her from swimming; it ruins her, but Philip stays, even when she has a near-death experience. It's then that she proposes, and he happily accepts. During this beach wedding, Lidia's mother is seen bleeding.

This could simply be due to menopause, but the metaphorical meaning could be that she failed to protect her daughter and that Lidia found her own way out. She may have been bleeding internally as she watched her daughter suffer, but she never did anything about it. The awkward embrace that follows is simply unbearable, with her father's controlling hand on her mother's back, slightly above his own. The marriage is as bad as you can imagine, and Lidia even gets pregnant. Her pregnancy worsens her condition, making her more irritable, more unhinged. But what finally drives them apart is the stillbirth of their daughter. It may be a memory that binds them together, but they could never return to normal after that. Afterward, she finds a relationship with a man named Devin, and also a way out of the abyss: a writing program run by Ken Kesey.

The truth is, if it weren't for Ken and his collaborative writing program, Lidia might never have reached the shallow end of the pool. She would have drowned in her sorrows, because she would never have found an outlet for her sadness. Ken, who had experienced his own loss—the death of his son—could truly understand what Lidia was going through. Despite being her teacher, he gives her a flask on her first day of class, marking a pivotal moment in their relationship. Ken sees in Lidia what no one else would have. She is taught to use language as expression, not as a means to conceal her true feelings. Devin doesn't understand her new commitments, and eventually, she leaves him too. Amidst all this, Lidia also discovers her queer interests and finds herself exploring even more than she could have imagined. She writes an essay, a precursor to the memoir that ultimately inspired this film. It was this writing that truly propelled her to leave behind her self-destructive habits and understand that memories are malleable and can change depending on how she feels about them.

From what she writes, we hear her read about her stillborn daughter, then about her swimming, and finally about her worst trauma: her father's abuse. What she reads makes her cry; it makes her feel as if she's out of this world, as if she's floating on water above us, and we can't really hear her. Only she can truly hear herself. That is her self-assurance. At least, that's how I interpreted it. But, even though things were looking good for Lidia, this might have been her lowest point. Kesey was a father figure to Lidia, but distancing herself from him sends her into a complete turmoil. During her time with Kesey, Lidia even seemed to have overcome her childhood trauma, because when her father reappears, Kesey showers her with praise, and her father feels insignificant, much more so.

The beauty of life is that it's cyclical, and what goes around comes around. In a flashback, when Lidia is with a new man named Andy, whom she met after taking classes as a teacher, not as a student, we see a moment from some time ago—I don't remember exactly when—but Lidia's father almost drowned in the ocean, and Lidia saves him, probably thanks to her mother's desperation. Lidia remembers how she didn't kill the man who, in her mind, ruined her life forever. Her father lost his memory due to hypoxia, so he's a completely different man. On the other hand, Lidia completely screwed up when she got so drunk that she killed a man and his pregnant wife while driving under the influence. Perhaps it was a wake-up call, or maybe prison brought her back to life.

In the finale of The Chronology of Water, Lidia finally has a son with Andy, and he is born healthy. The baby's birth mirrors the scene of her first child's loss. Much has changed over the years, and now Lidia can finally be happy holding her baby, and although he was born from the same water as her traumas, he will be the reason for her life. However, before the film ends on a happy note, we see Lidia interact with her father one last time.

This time, he is different; he doesn't remember her. He has even read her book and claims it's not very flattering. I suppose Lidia is in control now, but you can still see the fear in her when she reaches out and touches her son with it, inside his bright red sock, almost as if she's trying to hide him from his father. There's something about his red socks and white overalls that makes the scene even more intense. I suppose Lidia has left her past behind completely and has now moved into a world as calm as the ocean after a storm. She has finally let it all go.

At the end of the film, Lidia, Andy, and their son are at the lake, but the boy refuses to put his head underwater because he thinks it will drown his brain. Lidia explains how she has done it countless times, and his brain is perfectly fine. It's as if she's saying, "Life throws many challenges and complications your way, but in the end, I'll make sure it doesn't drown you." You could say that writing saved Lidia, but you could also say that her son saved her.

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