A woman wakes up every day, remembering nothing as a result of a traumatic accident in her past. One day, new terrifying truths emerge that force her to question everyone around her.
Before I Go To Sleep prevents narcolepsy yet succumbs to the forgettable deficiency of an amnesiac. Domestic thrillers, much like memories, could last an eternity or a short-term duration amongst the saturation of its genre. Particular scenes, images or performances could always assist in refreshing one’s mind, cementing an ornate memorability in the process. Much like Christine whom, after an anonymous brutal attack, suffers from amnesia to which her memories reset whenever she sleeps. Waking up everyday with a rebooted mind. She, with the assistance of a neuropsychologist, records footage of her previous day with a digital camera she hides from her husband so that, when she wakes up, she can acknowledge her current stance and previous life. Attempting to recall the attack, someone is secluding the truth from her as she swiftly learns to trust nobody, including a devoted husband and doctor.
Joffé’s psychological mystery, based on Watson’s novel of the same name, is a clinically serviceable thriller that regrettably succumbs to genre clichés. This is not the first thriller to confront amnesia, with Nolan’s innovative ‘Memento’ raising the benchmark to stratospheric heights. However, whilst the aforementioned feature hosted a fragmented narrative structure, Joffé settled for a straightforward linear approach, certainly enhancing the accessibility of its mystery without the requirement of a notebook and/or advanced IQ brain. It enables the leading performances to control the story and, most importantly, keep viewers awake. Firth and Strong remain as dependable as ever, supplying meticulously engineered performances that insert doubt into the audience’s assertions, the former especially exuding an impartial menace. Kidman, despite her occasional monotone facial reactions to certain scenarios, takes control of the plot and depicts a fragile yet determined woman whom has to battle her condition and the lies of individuals surrounding her.
The problem unfortunately is nestled within Joffé’s screenplay. Aside from the few contradictory statements regarding Christine’s diagnosis, and convenient moments of remembrance despite the fact she’s been tainted with this deficit for various years, Joffé succumbs to the narrative trap of reinforcing a facade. The double bluff. He expends much of the runtime implementing a crazed diversion through the character of Christine, masquerading the obviously inevitable plot twist. The first two thirds, notwithstanding the fast pace and functional technical elements, revolved around Christine and the possibility that her fractured mind is forcing her to doubt herself and others. Offering the idea that she is mentally unstable and that everyone is telling the truth. The issue being that, considering its genre, we know that’s not the case and so therefore that third act reveal loses all of its proposed impact due to dancing around of its revelatory nature. Consequently the climactic third is rushed, expositional and lacks any emotional significance.
This is the type of domestic thriller that would be more efficient as a limited television series. Its narrative substance is too menial and derivative for the restrictions of a feature film and is absent of cinematic edge. However, the final product is a serviceable mystery with three confidently dependable performances that manage to captivate for the most part. Although, rather ironically, you won’t remember it the next day.
