Like boarding a flight for somewhere promising, only to be met with an emergency landing, Departures never quite reaches the emotional depth it sets out for. This collaboration between filmmaking duo Lloyd Eyre-Morgan and Neil Ely begins at the end, retelling its story in a way that is non-linear. As the film’s tagline reads, “They say the best way to move forward is to go back…”. Immediately, the directors set out their experimental ambitions, yet what follows struggles to maintain this initial intrigue.
When Benji, played by Eyre-Morgan himself, meets the strapping Jake (David Tag) at an airport bar, the two go through a cycle of shifting relationship dynamics as they holiday together in Amsterdam. There’s an unmistakable British tone, one that heavily leans into the language and aesthetic of Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting, yet in a way that sometimes feels slightly performative. It borders on what feels like a parody of British culture – a very gay and unapologetic Trainspotting.
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The film’s use of multimedia, layering illustrations over frames of key moments, gives it a sense of appreciable playfulness. It’s a kind of, “we can do whatever the fuck we want,” energy that feels tied to its independent roots, one of the few elements that gives the film a distinct identity, despite how similar it feels at times to the softer queer media editing in the beloved Netflix series, Heartstopper.
To its credit, Departures is clearly trying to navigate themes of trauma, desire, and self-sabotage. It also touches on Jake’s internalised homophobia and projections of masculinity, which create a tension with Benji as he desperately attempts to form a more emotional connection, not unlike the dynamics explored in Harry Lighton’s 2025 dom/sub comedy, Pillion. Yet while navigating the trysts of submissive BDSM gay culture, it falls into the same traps that so many narratives do, isolating queer experience into a cycle of trauma with little room for happiness or growth. Too often it feels on the nose, sacrificing depth for repetition of lust. Where Pillion successfully explores this terrain with a more gradual and nuanced understanding of behaviour, Departures continues to recycle sex, alcohol and more sex in place of truly connecting with its characters.
Granted, some viewers may feel aligned with the culture that Eyre-Morgan and Ely shape, yet for the casual observer, it may be difficult to connect with and easy to feel alienated by what is shown. Moments that hint at vulnerability are repeatedly cut short, rarely allowed ample time to breathe before collapsing back into the same patterns of, you guessed it, sex, or at least discussions of sexuality. To give the film its credit, this likely feels intentional, showing how Benji continues to place himself in these reckless situations. As a result, it risks feeling like a collage of stereotypes, rather than a critique of them.
There are flashes of something more compelling. A handful of softer scenes suggest a more resonant film beneath the surface, and the final third shows signs of progression with a somewhat satisfying conclusion. But these moments remain frustratingly brief. For all its stylistic, sometimes overwhelming ambition, Departures ultimately feels grounded.