GRADE: A-

A middle-aged, middle-class French couple is on vacation, headed toward the same small cabin they have been using for years. After getting settled and a good night’s sleep, they decide to go for a swim at a nearby beach. She wants to sunbathe for a bit before joining him in the water. But after she awakens from a short nap, he is nowhere to be found.

Searching the horizon, she sees no one. Questioning the few beachcombers present, she learns nothing. Rushing back to the cabin, she finds it empty. After conferring with authorities, the beachfront and adjoining waters are searched by rescue workers in helicopters, boats and jet skis, but no trace of him is found.

Did he drown? Might foul-play be involved? Or is there more to the story than anyone knows, leading the police to inquire whether her husband might have committed suicide or simply disappeared under his own power, having taken the opportunity to start a new life?

The wife emphatically insists their relationship and marriage are sound; that her husband would never abandon her or simply disappear without a word, let alone kill himself. Tending to believe her, and with little other choice, they tell her all that can be done for now is to wait.

So begins another of director François Ozon’s thoroughly fascinating character studies cum mysteries; a sublime, sexual and surreal drama about one woman’s determined response to grief and loss, for better or worse, and the various reactions of those around her to the way she chooses to deal with it.

Compact but still complex, “Under the Sand” is a rapidly moving affair that drifts effortlessly between different filmmaking styles and narrative tones, no better example than a scene, shot in stark color contrast from above, in which the wife lay still upon her bed while the hands of her husband and another man caress and careen simultaneously in a striking show of erotica and longing that takes places solely within her mind.

Months pass, but still she refuses to accept that her husband is missing, continuing to refer to him in the present tense—even offering their company to others. Is there something she knows or suspects that viewers are not yet privy to or is she slipping into a psychosis and losing her mind?

Brilliantly shot mostly at a distance, Ozon displays a cool detachment reminiscent of Claude Chabrol, Henri-Georges Clouzot and, at times, Alfred Hitchcock. Rarely is anything or anyone shot in close-up, the director choosing to reserve judgment by remaining offhandedly voyeuristic rather than attempting to put viewers “in the scene” by way of telling camera angles and tightly bracketed compositions.

As the troubled and traumatized wife, Charlotte Rampling has never been better, proving once again she is one of the world’s greatest and most courageous actresses, having fulfilled as wide a variety of parts as any in the industry. On screen in virtually every scene, Rampling commands our attention, sympathy and concern as she struggles to find out what happened and chart a course forward.

The supporting cast is equally effective, and the film is beautifully shot by cinematographers Antoine Heberle and Jeanne Lapoirie (although those who choose to watch the film via Netflix streaming will be disappointed, with many demanding scenes extremely difficult to make out).

Unlike many of these kinds of stories, which are often left open-ended in an effort to enhance their mysteries, “Under the Sand” does contain some degree of closure. But like the story itself, with deeply emotional and existential underpinnings firmly in place, that closure is short lived, layered with an astounding closing sequence that is among the most creative and expressive I have ever seen.

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