In the opening sequence of Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now, a little girl in a red raincoat drowns in a pond in the English countryside, as her parents are nestled comfortably in a nearby estate. Roeg cuts frantically between the girl tooling around the pond in her boots and her father John (Donald Sutherland) at work inside, examining a projected image of an Italian cathedral he intends to restore. The cutting works as suspense, leaving the audience utterly helpless to stop this inevitable tragedy from happening, but it has a much more sophisticated agenda than goosing our emotions. Through color and montage effects, tied to shots like a spill that bleeds over John’s slide, Roeg dramatizes the present and predicts the future all at once, signaling the heartbreak and terror to come.
Time collapses in Don’t Look Now. The past and future are folded into the present. Anyone who has seen Roeg’s work from this peak period of his career – this film was preceded by the sensual Outback adventure Walkabout and the elliptical science fiction of The Man Who Fell to Earth – will recognize his intuitive, semi-experimental editing and how much it pushed the boundaries of commercial cinema. Yet there’s something special about the way certain patterns and visual motifs keep cycling through this film, a reminder that grief can strike at any time for John and his wife Laura (Julie Christie), no matter how far they run from it.
