'The Chronology of Water' Is More Than What It Claims To Be

Emily Bunder
11 hours ago
4 min read

“A woman becomes a competitive swimmer after surviving an abusive childhood.”

The way that The Chronology of Water (2025) is billed from a quick Google search is misleading. Kristen Stewart’s directorial debut cannot be reduced to a story about a swimmer. Adapted from the 2011 memoir by Lidia Yuknavitch, the film explores abuse and trauma, but ultimately results in healing through the power of writing. Having not read the book myself, I can’t validate how accurately the film portrays Yuknavitch’s own words. However, it is important to bear in mind that this is based on a person’s life, despite the character’s own questioning as to whether all of her stories are true.

The Chronology of Water is split into five chapters. It tells the story of Lidia, played by Imogen Poots in a career-best performance, from childhood to adolescence to adulthood. Her father (Michael Epp) is verbally and sexually abusive, and her mother (Susannah Flood) is an alcoholic. Her sister, played by Thora Birch, runs away from home at a young age, but the two share a strong connection. Lidia finds comfort in being in the water. This allows her to eventually escape home and go to university on a swimming scholarship, but she becomes entangled with alcohol and drugs. The university section of the film reads as a cliché with the constant partying and experimentation, but an entertaining watch nonetheless.

Lidia’s comfort in writing is disclosed from a young age, but at this low point in her twenties, she begins to rediscover her voice in a creative writing class led by a fictionalised version of the One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest author Ken Kesey (Jim Belushi). We continue to follow her career and relationships as she gets older, with a prominent focus on her experiences of intimacy. Where many sexual abuse survivors in films and TV shows end up struggling with their sexuality and become hyposexual, Lidia does the opposite. Beginning with frequent masturbation in her teenage years, she moves to casual sex at university, eventually desiring rougher encounters as a trauma response to what occurred in her childhood. The film also explores her experiences with women and BDSM.

The film is almost chronological, with many of the same flashbacks interspersed with the progression of Lidia’s life. At times, the years are unclear, and it’s difficult to tell her age or stage of life. The editing almost feels like EMDR, a type of psychotherapy used primarily on people with PTSD involving the recalling of trauma whilst moving the eyes. We fleet between scenes rapidly with strobing effects. At tense moments, whisper-like sound effects become overwhelming. Combined, the film becomes disorientating and uncomfortable, yet this seems to be the feeling Stewart wants to instill in the viewer. It’s impossible not to feel part of the story, but it is not relatable to the casual viewer (and nor should it be).

But aside from the uneasy editing, the camera work is exceptional. It’s filmed mostly in close-up shots, none of which are of pristine quality. It was like watching a compilation of home movies at times and, as someone who films and documents absolutely everything in my life, I really enjoyed this perspective.

At times, the storyline feels uneven and doesn’t live up to its initial promise. While water features as a significant motif, swimming isn’t always given the prominence it deserves here. It’s a shame, given how significant it is to the story. But Lidia’s destiny is not to compete in the sport that she loves; it’s to write and teach, and we don’t get to see enough of her success in this. The first chapter of the film takes up almost half of its duration, leaving less time to explore some of the film’s best plots in greater depth. The story may have been more meaningful had we focused less on establishing Lidia’s traumatic background and more time watching her growth. Seeing Lidia at her best was heartwarming, and I wish we could have seen more of her happier moments.

It also felt as though Stewart was trying to write every single trope possible into this film, but not all of them were given significant attention. For example, toxic relationships, grief and struggles with mental health all feature sporadically. In the cinema, all it takes is for the viewer to look away for a second, pop to the toilet or grab a snack to miss details, but not every film introduces new plot points as frequently as The Chronology of Water did. I didn’t want to tear myself away from the screen; as compelling as it was, it needed full concentration.

The performances of the actors did not disappoint. Poots’ acting is undoubtedly brilliant. Her deadpan demeanour creates an unsteady personality within the character of Lidia, representing her overall instability as a result of her trauma. Epp plays her father as terrifying, when necessary. But oftentimes, Lidia contemplates having sympathy for her father and continues to sustain a relationship with him in adulthood, in which he is no longer sexually abusive. We also see her happy memories of him. The portrayal is ultimately sinister. Flood does a great job of showing her character’s simultaneous physical presence and mental incapacity, whilst Birch’s role seems to be the film’s foil, as a constant, supportive figure.

The fictionalised Kesey comes across as vivacious and inspiring, yet unfortunately a little creepy (although this is not down to Belushi’s acting, as he perfectly emulates the archetypal quirky English professor). The unease of male authority figures in Lidia’s life translates into characters beyond her father, and because of this, it’s difficult to trust all but two of the men in the whole film, both love interests. Philip (Earl Cave) is caring, but she finds him too meek, while Andy (Charlie Carrick) is impossible to dislike.

The Chronology of Water is compelling, but hard to watch at times and tackles its themes and issues with varying degrees of success. Condensing this sort of material into a two-hour film was always going to be a challenge. Ultimately though, Stewart should be commended for her efforts to create a painful and beautiful representation of Yuknavitch’s life, one which is beautifully acted by all concerned.

Edited by Lara Walsh, Co-Film & TV Editor