Fifteen-year-old Jo (Evita Andriopoulou) is having a bad day. Her dog is missing, she’s late for school, and she had a strange dream the night before. After kicking the wing mirror off her mother’s car in a fit of frustration, she heads, shoulders hunched, into another boring day of classes, where classmates gossip and grumble in hushed voices while working on their art projects. Jo doesn’t yet realise that her life is about to change – after being immensely moved by fellow pupil Phaedra’s (Anastasia Gouliamou) performance of an old song, she shyly resolves to befriend her. And then, as the day slips into night, a split-second mistake changes the world again.
Jacqueline Lentzou’s second feature film is a bold announcement from the Greek filmmaker, whose distinctive handmade aesthetic is well-suited to her young protagonist. Inspired by the murder of a 15-year-old boy in Athens that led to the country’s 2008 riots, A Day in the Life of Jo – or to give the film its full title, A Day in the Life of Jo: Chapter Phaedra (A Film About Breath, Hands and Loneliness) – is a different sort of coming-of-age film. The shy but spiky protagonist is excellently embodied by Andriopoulou, who captures the myriad emotions that a teenage girl encounters throughout any given day. One of the film’s most touching scenes comes when a group of young girls excitedly show Jo a turtle they’ve found; she humours them and says she’ll come to look for it in a few days’ time. The moment takes on particular poignance given the events that follow.
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The film is at its best when capturing these sweet, slight moments throughout Jo’s day; the decision to switch to a much more experimental approach in the third act is foreshadowed by the film’s opening but asks a lot of the audience reeling from a devastating narrative left-turn. If this filmmaking decision doesn’t entirely work, it’s nevertheless not enough to upend the entire project. A Day in The Life of Jo’s final moments are among its most affecting, carefully, quietly showing the void left by a senseless loss.
The craft of the film is also impressive; Grimm Vandekerckhove’s cinematography captures the whimsy of girlhood without tweeness, while the soundscape (designed by Leandros Ntounis and Jakob Spengemann with the always excellent Colin Stetson on score duties) creates a sensory lushness indicating Lentzou’s ambition as a storyteller. This in itself is an encouraging sign, and indicates Lentzou is a filmmaker to keep a close eye on.