Ancestors: A Tender Portrait of Love, Loss, and the Films That Saved Us

When History Becomes Memory

I was always struck by how Ancestors didn't just tell a story—it felt like it was asking me to remember. Set in London's late 1980s, when the AIDS crisis was claiming lives with relentless force, the film isn't just about loss; it's about survival. It's about how we carry forward the people we've lost—whether they're gone physically or simply disappeared from our lives, emotionally, spiritually.

"I think a lot of people of my generation feel this absence of our elders," says director David Turpin. "Whether they were people who died or people who were just so hurt by the crisis that they withdrew and became inaccessible to us."

There's something achingly honest about how Turpin frames this loss, especially in a world where we're often taught to look forward rather than back. His film asks us not to forget, but to remember with care, with love, with the same tenderness we might show an old photograph.

Love and Loss Through the Lens of Memory

The heart of Ancestors beats through its central trio: Beau (Éanna Hardwicke), a young Irish immigrant trying to find his place in London; Michelle (Jessica Reynolds), his loyal best friend; and Maurice (Rupert Everett), an aging man who runs a café that serves as a sanctuary for gay men navigating the chaos of the era.

Maurice is more than just a character—he's a repository of memory, a living archive of film history. His walls are lined with photographs of screen goddesses like Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, icons who served as spiritual anchors in a world that told them they didn't belong. In fact, these movie stars aren't just props; they're the film's most essential characters.

"I think people have a very small and often very wrong idea about camp now," Turpin notes. "For older gay men, the relationship with these stars wasn't just fandom—it was reverence, a way to connect to something divine in a world that said they were dirty and didn't belong."

It's a beautiful, quietly revolutionary idea: that art can be sacred, even when it's made by people who never intended to be icons. In Ancestors, these screen stars become our ancestors, our lost elders in spirit.

The Soundtrack of Survival

Music plays a vital role in Ancestors. It's not just the background noise—it's a character itself. Turpin's decision to give each actor a cassette Walkman and a personalized playlist was more than a creative touch; it was a way to immerse audiences into the emotional landscape of the characters.

"It was really helpful to give them just the music that their character would have been listening to," Turpin explains. "Because especially with music, it can bring you to places that you could talk and talk and never quite get there, and music will just teleport you there."

This is where the film truly shines: in how it uses sound to bridge time and space, making us feel like we're not just watching a movie but living within it. The soundtrack is both nostalgic and necessary—a reminder that even in darkness, the human spirit can find light.

Christina Hendricks: A Star Reborn

Christina Hendricks brings a quiet strength to her role as one of those screen goddesses—she's not just playing a character, she's embodying a legacy. I've always admired her work on Mad Men, and in Ancestors, she brings that same complexity to the role.

"She read the script and she just really responded to it," says Turpin. "I guess I thought of her the way that Rupert's character Maurice thinks of these women on his wall, that they're just on another plane."

Hendricks' performance adds an emotional layer that feels both intimate and universal. She isn't here for the sake of celebrity—she's here because she understands what it means to be a part of something bigger than yourself. Her presence is like a confirmation of faith, a gentle nod to those who have come before us.

A Film About Found Families

What strikes me most about Ancestors is how it explores the idea of found family—how people who aren't related by blood or biology can still become our chosen kin. Beau's relationship with Michelle, his connection to Maurice, and even the unexpected bond he forms with Tiny (Jack Wolfe) all speak to a deeper truth: that we all need someone to hold us when the world feels too heavy.

In an age where we're so often told that we are our own best friends, Ancestors offers something more tender. It suggests that maybe the best way to survive is not to go it alone—but to carry forward the stories, the memories, and the love of those who came before us.

The Ghosts We Carry

Turpin's film doesn't just revisit history—it reimagines how we process grief. It shows that loss isn't something you move through, but something you carry with you, in the way you laugh, in the way you love, in the way you remember.

As I sat through Ancestors, I found myself thinking about my own ancestors—the ones who died too young, the ones who left us without saying goodbye, and the ones who simply faded away into silence. This film didn't just honor them; it asked me to think of them again.

It's a beautiful, melancholy, and deeply human experience—perfectly crafted by someone who knows that sometimes the most powerful stories come not from what we say, but from how we remember what was lost.

The Next Chapter

Turpin is already working on his next project, a film called The Foundling. While details are scarce, one thing is certain: if Ancestors is any indication, it will be another deeply felt love story—this time with a new cast and a fresh perspective.

For now, I'll keep thinking about the stars that hang in Maurice's café. I'll remember their faces and the way they helped us believe we were worthy of love—even when the world said otherwise. And I'll carry Ancestors with me, as a reminder of how art can be our salvation.