Ian McEwan's (Atonement) adaptation of his own Booker-nominated novella, On Chesil Beach, opens with a sweet young couple walking hand-in-hand along the titular beach.
Their honeymoon suite awaits. What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters it is immediately apparent that these two Brits — a blushing English bride and a handsome but bumbling groom — have a physical intimacy as fragile as glass. Set in 1962, ironically at the dawn of the sexual revolution, On Chesil Beach pits goodwill against the brutal truth of sexual countenance.
Slowly, through flashbacks, we learn about Florence (Saoirse Ronan) and Edward's (Billy Howle) romance that leads to their engagement which was born on the wings of a burgeoning friendship more than sexual attraction.
Now, in their honeymoon suite, there is something clearly amiss as the couple struggle to consummate their marriage. Bereft of any physical warmth, their honeymoon quickly becomes stilted, self-conscious and strained.
The sexual subtext occupies the room like a rutting bull-elephant. And despite the clipped "no sex please, we're English" demeanour, the film addresses the topic head-on with the momentum of a freight train.