Waves and the Truth of Love

Note: This essay contains spoilers.

There’s a certain brashness to Waves; it’s two act structure, graphic violence, and unabashed focus on forgiveness. It’s bold yet even within its boldness and larger than life themes — love and loss — Waves evades clichés, binaries, or easy answers — all the while telling the truth, a truth quoted early in the film. “Love is patient. Love is kind. It doesn’t boast. Not proud. Not rude. Not self-seeking…And it keeps no records of wrong.” It’s odd that the staple cliché marriage ceremony passage of 1 Corinthians 13 is used to speak about the realities of violence and forgiveness. What is director Trey Edward Shults up to? Everything.

Human beings live out broken stories. We are all harmed and agents of harm. Waves acknowledges this by zeroing in on a family with an assortment of brokenness — particularly Tyler — whose world is impressionistically dissected in the first act of the film. With colorful vibrancy and a passionate intertwining of music and moments Tyler’s social world is explored through a series of vignettes; parties, with a combined sense of a distinct upper middle class glamor, urgency, community, and sexual intensity. We hear music blasting in cars with friends, beach trips, Instagram posts, wrestling — all wrapped in layers of masculine performance based social expectations — “Carpe Diem, Seize the Day” is written on the classroom wall. Tyler posts flex photos to his Instagram — moments later we find him yelling repeatedly with his wrestling teammates. “I will not be taken down, I am a new machine!” Tyler’s world is wrapped in direct contrast to the truth of love — love is not proud, and does not boast.

These series of vignettes give context for the decision Tyler makes that lead to his act of violence; the expectations of his father, his teammates, his coaches, and of himself. Tyler’s actions, to ignore his shoulder, take drugs, react against his parents and his girlfriend, Alexis, are both his fault and the product of his social world but more importantly a result of the absence of the truth. The absence of humility and kindness between him and his father, his friends and coaches, and between him and God provides the context for escalation. As Tyler’s circumstances go from bad to worse, the lack of truth — of love — provides the possibility for a cycle of resentment, conflict and violence. Yet the genuine contingency of our context and the undeniable choices we are faced with and make are mysterious. Waves intentionally avoids answering the question, how could he do this? “You’re not my Mom! You’re pathetic Catherine” Tyler screams at his step mother before the act of violence. “I am your mother. I am your mother,” Responds Catherine — out of the immense love of a mother’s heart. In a certain sense this is the most loving line of the film, Tyler’s step-mom reaffirming her unconditional love even as he rejects hers. Here after much narrative digression, Waves, at its core, returns to its theme — love — and how to love in a physically and emotionally violent world. The scenes surrounding the act of violence are cinematically chaotic, heavy and loud — so much goes wrong so quickly. Here again is a truth — we live in a world where human beings commit acts of violence. Tyler doesn’t intentionally kill his girlfriend, Tyler’s father Ronald doesn’t mean to push him into actions of domestic violence, and as Tyler weeps into his sister Emily’s arms we find a more complicated, darker, yet more beautiful world than the one we often imagine — one filled with the strange, complicated and sometimes violent actions of beautiful human beings who have lost the truth of love.

Yet the reality of violence seems to speak directly against this truth. Looking at the blood on the floor of a bathroom, with a lifeless young woman holding the gift of life in her womb, seems to contradict the reality of the easy to say churchy aphorism of the quoted Biblical passages. Waves screams anguished questions, grieving over the blood and undeniable numbness that is born out of violence. The damage is done — the world is fractured — leaving broken people like Emily behind.

We are left numb after the death of Alexis and the scenes that proceed demonstrate the fracture that comes with death. The film is almost silent after Tyler’s prison sentencing echoing the emptiness that each character feels. As Waves shifts gears to focus on Emily and her parents in the second half, the film moves into even deeper impressionistic waters, yet at the same time grounds itself in the real consequences endemic to such a tragedy. As Waves transitions from the theme of violence to possibilities of reconciliation and forgiveness we find Emily navigating a shattered world. Her response is internal, however she’s begun her own cycle of “violence” — hatred. “I hate him,” Emily says to her father in the aftermath of Alexis’s death, “He’s a monster. He’s evil.” Her father, whose own heart has begun to move towards love responds with the truth, “Your brother, he’s not a monster, he’s just a human being…remember your grandfather’s favorite scripture? Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses.” Here we are introduced to the second truth. Love isn’t just patient and kind, it has the potential to transcend violence.

But how can love transcend violence? The focus of Emily’s relationship with Luke seems like an odd choice to unravel the consequences of violence and the possibilities of forgiveness — yet it’s a critical part of what it takes to heal. Through the startling beauty of Waves vignette-style-editing the film focuses on Emily’s opening up and healing in the context of a new relationship. Together Emily and Luke go on trips to springs, kayak, and have conversations about religion, music, and family. Through these collections of moments Emily begins to open up her soul — Luke is kind, accepting her for who she is. There’s a mystery here — the love of others often helps us see our own desire, however buried deep within us, for reconciliation and healing.

However, there’s no way to give a blueprint for reconciliation. Waves doesn’t offer easy answers, but glimpses into the seemingly unimportant moments of our lives that give us the grace and the hope to reconcile. For Emily, it’s a mix of beauty, time and love — a relationship comes into her life that’s open, honest and kind. A father tells her that he loves her. But it’s seeing her boyfriend hold his broken dying father — drenching her mind with memories of her own brother crying on her shoulder, weeping. “I just had a bad night, you know…” This is the mystery of memory and of the seemingly small moments that can jolt us suddenly out of hate and into healing — the memory of his humanness helps her imagine a world where she forgives him. The possibility and the context of love — the memory of love and of her brother’s humanness allows for her to see the truth — that her brother is just a human being — that love doesn’t keep a record of wrong — and that yes, love does cover all offenses.

Emily walks out of the hospital room, tears streaming down her face. She begins to type out a text to Catherine, “I want us to be a family again”. She erases the text holding back, breaking down because it’s all so much — because the mystery of the truth — of being broken open by love — is profound as the mystery of life itself. We see Catherine look down at her phone and see a text from Emily, “I’ve been thinking a lot and I hope we can start talking more. I really love you so much and I’m grateful to have you in my life and that you raised me… I’ll be home soon.”

And like waves the impact of love crashes over them all and covers all offenses. Emily drives back from Kansas with Luke — there’s a sunset. Ronald sits in church. Tyler sits in a prison cafeteria, and, shyly, begins to pray to God. Catherine visits Tyler in prison. Ronald takes Catherine’s hand and for the first time she doesn’t pull away. Emily rides her bicycle, and stands up putting her arms out. Free.

Love is patient. Love is kind. It doesn’t boast. Not proud. Not rude. Not self-seeking… And it keeps no records of wrong. Love does cover all offenses.