iterature professor Leda Caruso (Olivia Colman) arrives at a Grecian beachside apartment that she’s rented, exuberant at the thought of her exotic vacation. Despite lighthouse flashes in the distance, the blares of boats, and a slightly irritable landlord (Ed Harris), the exotic locale is sure to be relaxing and refreshing. The following morning, she’s virtually all alone, with just the sand, the sun, and a few birds. But as the day wanes on, a noisy crowd of beachgoers turn up, spoiling the blissful tranquility. And that evening, Leda notices that a bowl of fruit in the house is moldy; later, a rather sizable insect loudly chirps away on the pillow next to her as she sleeps. The paradise might not be entirely that.

Something else is amiss, as Leda spies a woman (Dakota Johnson) and a little girl (Athena Martin) basking on the beach, which eventually evokes tears from the professor. And Callisto (Dagmara Dominczyk) and her unruly group of partiers rub her the wrong way when they push their way into her section of the beach, which she prefers to enjoy in calming isolation. The actions and behaviors of the various other people on holiday intrude upon her hermitical recreation (a recurring theme), seemingly reminding her of her outsider status and the fact that she’s alone. “It’s been a weird day.”

Invasive, jerky, handheld camerawork prevents viewers from taking in wide shots of the resort; the lens tends to stay intimate and proximate, zeroing in on faces and other close-ups rather than establishing the larger environments and locations. It’s a curious decision, though it does perpetuate a sense of unease, lending to the discomfort of other filmic additives, such as flashbacks to Leda’s earlier days as a young mother, in which she dwells almost exclusively on negative memories. Strangely, jazzy music routinely clashes with the somber activities onscreen, often frolicking over morose remembrances or meditations.

Furthermore, plenty of talk about how people are generally bad seems to preside over Leda’s interactions, while the difficulties of raising children is a major apprehension. Happiness with kids, or even mere contentedness, is unattainable; here, offspring are an unfortunate inconvenience, requiring far too much attention and involvement, always getting in the way of privacy and personal space. Adulthood, too, presents nothing but disagreeable personas. Weirdly, “The Lost Daughter” is a mystery of sorts, with a handful of dubious events raising questions, though audiences aren’t let in on the purpose and direction for a considerable amount of time. It’s almost as if the film moves in and out of reality, or a sensible dream that shifts into a fantastical nightmare. Characters frequently behave unnaturally – the obviously exaggerated stuff of movies.

Unfortunately, the longer the picture holds back answers, the greater the chance of losing viewers; some of the scenarios are intriguing, but most threaten to bore. It all just meanders too much, with repetitive sequences of rowdiness and discord, designed to agitate Leda – and the audience – as if to manifest mental anguish, regret, and guilt. Ultimately, her story isn’t engaging enough to warrant a straightforward recounting, which makes the timeline gimmick and gaps in explanations even more disappointing, as they eventually emerge as trite embellishments for the sake of complicating an uncomplicated premise. At least the acting is exceptional, with Colman and Jessie Buckley (as the younger Leda) giving tremendously convincing performances – even if the tale itself is terribly unsatisfying.

– Mike Massie