Director: Nikya Esselink
Writer: Nikya Esselink
Cast: Isis Caljé, Mette Kuenen, Suzanna Mangar, Rikkie Wirtz, Daan Alberts, Lucas van de Wetering
Running time: 24mins
Anxiety disorders are now among the most prevalent mental health issues in the world. As of 2021, the World Health Organisation estimated 359 million people worldwide suffer from some form of anxiety – and that is likely a conservative forecast. And while there are many forms of effective treatment, those seeking help faces a minefield of accusatory glances, unsympathetic treatment, and flippant statements, long before finding a combination of medications and therapies which might work for them.
This exclusionary state of play stems from a broader lack of awareness and understanding of conditions – including among personal doctors; but also from systemic roots, including a civil society increasingly geared toward punishing people for not conforming to the labour expectations of the economy. Education around the topic is being undercut, while lack of investment in mental health services, and a shortage of trained healthcare providers, mean that even if someone makes the step of contacting their GP, there is a long way still to go. It is subsequently a journey which few anxiety sufferers complete. Only 27% of people in need receive any treatment at all.
It’s also a difficult condition to treat because, frankly, there are plenty of good reasons for a person’s mind and body to be anxious. At no time in human history have we been more exposed to our own species: surrounded by more people than have ever lived simultaneously – at a time when the world is erupting into war, and when domestically, terrible deeds not only go unpunished, but actively rewarded – we face an overwhelming number of alarm signs in our daily lives. Even if we stay in bed, the internet bombards us with endless reems of content designed specifically to keep us wired, scrolling through the depths of digital turmoil that every one of our communicative devices can now tap into. Simply finding ways for some people to live with it – from meditation to medication – glosses over the nightmarish world we are still creating, and the anxiety it will increasingly instil in future generations.
Noctilucent Clouds (which is given the far more poetic title Nachtwolken in its native Dutch) is a short film which endeavours to give us insight into the social anxiety, which is arguably the result of this process. Following Moos (Isis Caljé), director-writer Nikya Esselink delivers a multitude of slow-burning scenarios, where the protracted nature of even the most minor social interaction is played up to the most distressing level. That includes the silent terror of a sitting in doctor’s waiting room, pausing outside a door to weigh up all the unknown variables of a university open day, and how to press the ‘Stop’ button on a bus, when another passenger is leaning on it. Each time we instinctively feel caught out – and after the impulse to shout “push the bloody button” dissipates, we are left to stew, to wonder and worry about why we couldn’t push the button. It’s unsettling, in a way even the best horror auteur might struggle to rival.
So, as an illustrative effort, looking to educate audiences who might previously have been in the “tough love” camp, it’s highly effective.
Especially as there is ‘a misconception’ (if you’re being charitable; or ‘a wilful ignorance’ if you’re not) among many people, that those suffering from social anxiety are shy, or too set in their ways to live up to their potential, and that a bit of direct, confrontational nagging can simply give them the kick up the arse they need. That can come from a belief that being ‘direct’ and not ‘sparing someone’s feelings’ can ultimately be in their interests, but just as often it arises from a self-interested rudeness, a frustration that someone around you isn’t ‘normal’ enough to cater to your needs, or accommodate your own shortcomings.
Either way, it is extremely painful to encounter. And while it is bad enough when it comes from an overworked physician, or a frustrated careers coach, it is worst of all when it comes from a loved one. One of the film’s most excruciating encounters comes from friend Fien (Mette Kuenen), who unexpectedly bails on Moos minutes before the pair were due to see a film at the cinema together. When Fien later discovers that Moos found it too much pressure to attend the screening on her own, Fien becomes short, and a previously cosy moment at a gathering of their group suddenly gains an air of irritation. Partially this seems to be because Fien becomes aware that her own sudden absence led her friend to feel so bad that Moos missed out on an experience she might otherwise have enjoyed.
When things later come to a head, Fien begins loudly insisting that what she is about to say may seem hurtful, but of course it comes from a place of love. But as the film approaches its end, Esselink’s script serves us up one moment of relief, where the message finally lands – and Moos claims her own space. Her space is in relation to her condition – not overcoming it to become ‘normal’, but finally commanding the respect and understanding she is due – as a bare minimum – from her friends. That avoids the over-simplification that so many mental health shorts suffer from, where we arrive at a definitive conclusion that everything will just be fine now – and which so often undermines the otherwise good work those films do to raise awareness. And it also gives a feeling of empowerment, which I hope encourages people with anxiety to stand their ground when they do face criticism in their otherwise safe spaces.
There are some shortcomings in the film itself. In particular, all those lingering scenes where the tension is ratchetted up mean there is less space for exposition, or for building context about who Moos is. To some extent, less is more works, we can fill in most gaps ourself. But when in a climactic scene, we find her laying next to a young girl, reading to her from a picture-book before the girl’s mother comes to pick her up. Who exactly this is, in relation to Moos, feels like a distracting mystery, which poses questions that somewhat overshadow whatever progress the character is making at this time.
There is also a strange absence of drama in Moos’ rented home environment. When a problem with the bank means she is late on rent, her uncharacteristically forgiving landlord brings her tea and thanks her for letting her know. Later in the film, Moos sneaks into her lodging, as if the situation is not resolved – priming us to expect things to escalate, in one of the forms of anxiety that the majority of people are most accustomed to. Oh god, how am I going to make rent this month? But the tension diminishes slightly when it turns out she is sneaking around for a different reason; and valid as it is for her to also be anxious about that issue too, it is almost diminished, feeling a little like a B-plot that was promoted when the production ran out of time for the A-plot.
Fortunately, even with these notes, the film will have no trouble winning over audiences thanks to its most important resource: the performance of Caljé as Moos. If you’ve been watching film and television in the Netherlands for a while, you will recognise Caljé from something – be it the psychological thriller Nevenschade, or an earworm of a Lidl commercial I frankly wish I could unsee. But while often you may find her in supporting roles, here we see an actor ready to step into centre-stage, with a stunning performance of emotional depth and versatility; a wide-eyed protagonist who can be filled with joy one moment, only to see it rapidly drain from her face at the drop of a hat. If you are going to make a film about someone with a condition which makes it feel like the ground is perpetually falling out from under them, you could find no better lead.
On top of all this, Nikya Esselink credits herself as a first-time, student filmmaker. And while I don’t often note that in a review, for fear of seeming patronising, that might be the most exciting detail of all. This film is not perfect at all, but it’s damn good – and coming from someone just embarking on their journey, it suggests great things are in store for us from this innovative, socially aware artist.