‘Rose of Nevada’ Review: George MacKay and Callum Turner Get Spooked in Mark Jenkin’s Ghostly Fisherman Fable [A-] Venice

In Rose of Nevada, the sea does not simply serve as a backdrop but as a force of memory and fate. Mark Jenkin returns to his home county of Cornwall with a tale that blends folklore, ghost story, and social realism, anchored by his distinctive craft. What begins as a seemingly simple tale unfolds into something stranger and more profound. A meditation on the passage of time and survival in a community whose prosperity is tethered to the ocean.

When the film’s namesake, a modest crimson fishing boat, is mysteriously found docked in the same Cornish harbour it last departed from thirty years ago, the village residents are forced to make a decision. Do they risk sending it on a new voyage, despite its crew vanishing with it all those years prior, in the hope that it will bring luck and sustenance back to it’s community? Upon consulting Tina (Rosalind Eleazar), the widow of Alan, one of the fishermen who previously vanished, a local businessman decides the boat will sail again. 

It takes little time to find a skipper (Francis Magee) and the first of two deckhands: Liam (Callum Turner), a man escaping the complications of his city life. He alternates between pints in the local pub and nights spent squatting in a decaying timber warehouse by the harbour. The second deckhand, Nick (George MacKay), takes the gig out of sheer necessity. After a storm brings down the leaky roof of the small house he shares with his partner and child, the financial burden leaves him no choice. Even an unsettling warning from his unstable neighbour, Mrs. Richards, cannot dissuade him. Bound by duty to his family, Nick boards The Rose of Nevada. 

The voyage proves bountiful. The hold is overflowing, full of plastic crates of ice beds and fish.The crew return triumphant, seeming as though the vessel’s supposed curse was nothing more than superstition. But when they dock and step into the village centre for their day ashore, something is not quite right. The once deserted pub now beats with life, and as Liam goes to open the door, Tina appears—not with her grown daughters, but with a small child following behind her. She greets him not as Liam, but as Alan, her long-lost husband.

Nick too is displaced. Addressed as Luke, the son of his neighbours, the Richardsons, he finds only a For Sale sign hanging where his own home and family should be. Slowly, the truth unravels; they have returned to the same village, only in 1993, three years before Nick was even born. Where Liam embraces his newfound identity and the chance at life as a fairly content family man, Nick is left to mourn the exact same thing. The film leaves just enough mystery for the audience to make their own. No explanation is ever offered for what has taken place. Perhaps the sea itself has entwined the fates and souls of those it once claimed with the lives of those foolish enough to set sail again.

The only element that might have further deepened the story is a bit more focus on the bond blossoming between the two young deckhands. Their connection, if more fully realised, could have made Liam’s eventual claim over what was never his own feel all the more devastating in the wake of the loss Nick is facing. Still, the script remains well-rounded, though sometimes sparse in dialogue, it draws on elements that span genres while maintaining a singular focus. 

Few things are more satisfying than a film that uses cinematography to enrich its narrative rather than simply serve it. Jenkin’s beloved 16mm photography makes the story seem dreamlike. Its muted tones pre-voyage make the villagers appear almost ghost-like, revealing a community both haunted by its fruitful past and undernourished by its present. Subtly, colour and vibrancy return when the men first arrive back, signaling the village’s sudden rebirth. The framing is intimate and delicate, often even bordering on portraiture, while the handcrafted and deliberately choppy editing may feel abrasive to some, it deepens the tension alongside the piercing score that accompanies it. All elements come together to amplify the horror of Nick’s predicament, having been torn from a life, however bleak or mundane it may be, and thrust into a sudden and inescapable fate.

Jenkin resists convention in both storytelling and craft, refusing easy answers, what lingers by the end is not its oddities but its humanity. Beneath the mystery lies a story about loss, longing, and the threads that bind people to one another. Though it is a film that unsettles at times, it is equally moving and serves as a reminder that even in the most uncanny of circumstances, what endures is our need for connection and togetherness.

Grade: A

This review is from the 2025 Venice Film Festival where Rose of Nevada has its world premiere in the Orizzonti section. There is no U.S. distribution at this time.