A biopic about a record-setting swimmer should convey grit, passion, and purpose. Elliot Hasler’s Vindication Swim had all the ingredients for such richness: a pioneering athlete, sexism in early twentieth‑century England, and a genuine historical milestone.
Yet what ends up unfolding onscreen is less a celebration of achievement and more a sluggish dramatization of confusion.
Mercedes Gleitze’s legacy is extraordinary. In 1927, she became the first British woman to swim across the English Channel after multiple failed attempts. Her triumph symbolized endurance at a time when women’s physical and emotional strength were routinely questioned.
Despite this remarkable real-life basis, the film squanders its potential. Hasler’s direction struggles to decide whether to honor archival truth or cinematic drama, landing instead in the dull middle ground of hesitant storytelling.
The movie’s opening scenes introduce Gleitze, played by Kirsten Callaghan, as a quiet office worker who dreams of the sea. Yet those scenes lack the energy required to make her ambition feel urgent.
The period detail has charm, but it is a surface-level charm: costumes from a decade gone by, filtered through lifeless dialogue and flat performances. Every attempt at atmosphere feels forced, as though the production were scared of sincerity.
It is also difficult to overlook the technical shortcomings. The camera work flickers between overexposed countryside and dimly lit interiors. The conversations echo as if recorded in a gymnasium, which drowns emotional nuance in distortion.
When Hasler needed visceral immediacy, salt, water, and wind, the film instead gave an impression of cardboard imitation.
The Untold Power of Mercedes Gleitze
Mercedes Gleitze’s real achievements could have carried an entire trilogy. Born in Brighton to German parents, she trained tirelessly at a time when women rarely achieved recognition in endurance sports. Her 1927 crossing of the Channel was monumental not only for its physical difficulty but also for its cultural defiance.
She represented the possibility that women’s willpower could equal or surpass men’s, and she was fearless enough to face derision from sporting authorities who doubted her sincerity.
Beyond that defining moment, Gleitze’s post‑Channel life was just as impressive. She became the first to swim the Strait of Gibraltar, organized charity swims to support the homeless, and challenged the notion that athleticism belonged exclusively to men.
Her later retreat from the public eye still puzzles historians; she seemed determined to erase her fame rather than profit from it. These contradictions could have fueled a compelling cinematic portrayal if only the film had used them.
Instead, Vindication Swim reduces her depth to token gestures of empowerment. One fleeting subplot addresses how her German surname limited her recognition by British authorities, yet even that promising point is brushed aside.
The film could have contrasted female perseverance with nationalist prejudice, but that substance never materializes.
Hasler substitutes emotion with repetition, reminding audiences that the heroine is a woman in a man’s world without ever showing how she actually feels. The audience never understands her curiosity for cold water or the inner peace she found in swimming. What should have been meditative becomes monotonous.
Vindication Swim (Credit: Relsah Films)
Gleitze’s father’s ghost appears throughout the film, trying to symbolize emotional guidance, but the execution feels unintentionally comic. He lurks awkwardly during bathroom scenes, a creative choice that draws laughter instead of meaning.
What remains missing is empathy. Viewers do not sense the pain of ridicule, the thrill of perseverance, or the satisfaction of victory. Instead, they see a swim turned mechanical and motives left unspoken.
A Film That Talks About Struggle Without Showing It
Hasler’s storytelling strategy relies heavily on stating themes rather than embodying them. The screenplay keeps mentioning misogyny but almost never dramatizes it compellingly.
When Gleitze’s male coach initially refuses to train her simply because she is a woman, the scene resolves too quickly to build tension. Within minutes, he is supporting her again, eliminating the emotional arc such a moment requires.
This same pattern repeats throughout. Gleitze’s coworkers mock her ambition, but vanish from the story before their prejudice holds weight. Rather than shaping situations that reveal her resilience, Hasler simply tells us she is strong through dialogue. It becomes a film about endurance that displays no endurance itself.
The pace doesn’t help either. Line deliveries feel tranquilized, draining every interaction of spontaneity. When Callaghan must utter lines meant to sound like poetic phrases, like “the water beckons me,” they land with unintentional irony.
Her performance shows effort, especially given that she trained for years to perform the physical sequences authentically. Unfortunately, that dedication never finds proper translation onscreen because the water scenes lack rhythm and realism. The camera rarely stays on her long enough to evoke exertion. Instead of turbulence, there is fatigue.
Even the turning point, Gleitze’s battle with rival Elizabeth Gade, arrives too late to reinvigorate momentum. Gade fabricates her own crossing, stirring a public scandal that forces Gleitze to attempt a vindication swim, a symbolic final feat to reclaim honor.
This could have mirrored the societal pressures women face to constantly prove themselves, yet its staging feels exaggerated and humorless. The climactic courtroom sequence aims for gravity but comes off as a parody.
By concentrating on surface melodrama rather than genuine inquiry into why vindication mattered to Gleitze personally, Hasler transforms what should have been the film’s emotional peak into prolonged exhaustion.
When Ambition Exceeds Experience
Elliot Hasler’s passion for early achievement is well publicized. Finishing his first feature at sixteen is remarkable. However, Vindication Swim too often feels like the product of ambition not matched by mastery.
Every creative decision signals youthfulness, trying to imitate gravitas, echoing narration, stiff blocking, and visual metaphors left unfinished.
A more experienced filmmaker might have grounded Gleitze’s determination in ritual and solitude, captured the sensory hardship of long-distance swimming, and trusted silence where words failed.
Instead, Hasler fills scenes with explanatory dialogue and montages that mimic achievement without emotion. His intent is sincere, but sincerity alone cannot replace craftsmanship.
The saddest irony is that the film chooses self-seriousness over sincerity. Had Vindication Swim embraced simplicity, it might have succeeded as a quiet meditation on endurance. Instead, it insists on grandeur it cannot sustain, sinking under the weight of its own aspiration.
Gleitze’s story deserved intimacy, the press smells of chlorine, the sound of gulls, and the blink between exhaustion and triumph. The audience deserves to feel her isolation, the pressure of fame, and the betrayal of those who doubted her. None of that reaches the screen.
A Legacy Beyond a Failed Biopic
The real Mercedes Gleitze remains a symbol of quiet defiance. Even if Vindication Swim falters, her name still carries meaning far beyond the film’s shortcomings.
She succeeded when society expected her to stop, carved space for women in endurance sport, and turned hardship into dignity. While Hasler’s portrayal misses emotional targets, it inadvertently reminds audiences of how valuable true storytelling can be when treated with patience and depth.
Perhaps the vindication that truly matters belongs not to the film but to Gleitze herself, a figure who swam across skepticism, prejudice, and erasure. Her story remains important, even if this interpretation sinks before reaching shore.
Some films drown in their own ambition, and Exorcism Chronicles: The Beginning fits this description from its opening minute. Adapted from the first chapter of Toemarok by Lee Woo-hyeok, the Korean animated feature wants to feel grand, ancient, and culturally rooted.
What it accomplishes instead is a head-spinning blur of exposition. Writers Lee Dong-ha and Park Seong-hee position the story as the beginning of a vast mythological saga, yet they spend so much time setting up the world’s backstory that little emotional space remains for actual character growth.
Visually, it is an impressive product. Years of animation work by LOCUS Corporation have yielded beautifully animated fight sequences, glowing temples, and elaborate renderings of Korean and mythical terrain.
At moments, it feels less like a film and more like a sizzle reel for a high-budget anime series that might have been more suited to serialized storytelling than an 85-minute feature. The result is a movie that demands patience yet seldom rewards it.
Director Kim Dong-chul maintains a slick pace, cutting quickly between battles, flashbacks, and philosophical chatter about rituals and possession. Unfortunately, this rhythm only exposes how fragmented the script feels.
Every scene races to explain another piece of ancient lore instead of grounding viewers in emotion or suspense. The story’s energy is there, but its pulse is missing.
Father Park’s Struggle Feels Symbolic but Hollow
The film revolves around Father Park, voiced by Choi Han, a former doctor turned exorcist whose towering presence contrasts with his quiet grief. His introduction sets him up as a weary man haunted by loss and purpose.
When approached by his old acquaintance Guardian Jang, he gets pulled into a war between spiritual factions and forbidden rituals that threaten to unleash cataclysmic power.
On paper, this should have been a strong emotional core: a man of science turned man of faith contending with moral conflict. Instead, his arc is hijacked by convoluted legends and unnecessary subplots.
Father Park’s story could have served as a human anchor in this supernatural storm. He is sympathetic and visually striking, constantly clutching a flask of holy water as though it were whisky. Yet, the script offers him no real introspection beyond occasional exchanges about divine duty.
We are told he has suffered losses, but we never learn who he loved or what truly motivates him to fight. His partnership with Jang feels functional rather than emotional, primarily used to deliver heavy exposition.
That exposition dominates everything. Early scenes between Park and Jang unfold like lectures rather than conversations. They discuss orders, demons, and rituals, yet their shared past remains a mystery.
When they mention the Haedong Order and its internal corruption under Master Seo, the audience expects tension, but every reveal is buried beneath more mythological jargon. The film’s structure prioritizes building lore over fostering empathy.
Then there is Joon-hoo, the gifted child they are assigned to protect. Supposedly central to the story’s prophecy, Joon-hoo rarely speaks and has almost no development.
Instead of creating an emotional thread around protecting innocence amidst chaos, he becomes just another vessel for exposition. By the midpoint, the viewer forgets who exactly needs saving or why.
A Visual Triumph With Narrative Fatigue
The greatest strength of Exorcism Chronicles: The Beginning lies in its craftsmanship. The hand-rendered animation steeped in Korean architecture and mythology is consistently beautiful.
LOCUS Corporation’s six-year effort pays off in small moments, a swirling temple emerging through fog, the vivid contrast between old stone and blue moonlight, or the kinetic flow of supernatural energy during battles. Each frame displays extraordinary attention to tone and texture.
Exorcism Chronicles: The Beginning (Credit: Showbox)
Action scenes, particularly those featuring fire, water, and lightning-based powers, show why Korean animation is becoming a global force.
The characters fight with a choreography that feels rooted in both martial arts and spiritual ritual. In a purely visual sense, the movie belongs in the same conversation as Demon Slayer and Jujutsu Kaisen, though its storytelling never reaches those heights.
Despite this polish, the editing works against the film’s emotional potential. Viewers are rushed from scene to scene without time to breathe. Exposition-heavy montages substitute for genuine progression.
The dialogue constantly references prophecies, Hindu deities, and multiple guardians whose connections to the present plot are murky. Mentions of Kali, Asura, and Shiva promise cosmic confrontation, but their symbolic presence is muddled by nonlinear writing. The result feels more like an anthology sampler than a cohesive film.
Even the musical score, though energetic, contributes to fatigue. Loud percussion underscores nearly every moment, erasing nuance where silence might have conveyed more tension. What could have been a haunting spiritual horror about inner torment instead becomes an overburdened fantasy epic.
The Curse of Too Much Lore
The rich mythology of Toemarok deserved careful adaptation. However, Exorcism Chronicles: The Beginning gets caught between fan service and cinematic structure.
Rather than simplifying its story for new audiences, it insists on introducing every faction, deity, and elemental warrior as quickly as possible. For viewers unfamiliar with the source, it feels like being dropped into the finale of a complex series halfway through.
Even hardcore fantasy fans may feel disoriented. Exposition lines arrive so rapidly that key ideas vanish almost immediately. When the villainous Master Seo finally reveals his intentions to harness ancient powers through a grand ritual, the moment lacks weight because his motives have been lost amid prior chaos.
The same issue wrecks the subplot involving Lee Hyun-am, a vengeful teenager whose fire-scorched arm and personal loss could have added emotional grit. Instead, his arrival feels random, creating more confusion than context.
The movie seems aware it might one day spawn sequels and, therefore, treats every scene like a teaser for future revelations. It positions itself as chapter one of an epic saga while wrongfully assuming viewers will stick around for clarity later. That decision drains tension from the immediate story.
The title promises an exorcism but gives audiences endless mythology instead.
Creative Vision Without Coherence
Director Kim Dong-chul’s team clearly loves the source material. Their dedication shows in scale, animation, and defining visual choices. Yet, passion without focus only amplifies chaos. The film’s obsession with building a massive mythos prevents any emotional anchor from forming.
Each element of Exorcism Chronicles: The Beginning almost works in isolation. The tragic exorcist, the rebellious acolyte, and the demonic overlord are all archetypes that function well in fantasy anime.
But when mashed together without proper rhythm, they cancel one another out. The experience feels similar to watching an extended video game cutscene where control has been stripped away. Spectacle remains; immersion fades.
Though the film ends with the promise of resolution, it never justifies the journey. The viewer exits with admiration for the artwork but exhaustion from the storytelling. If this truly is “the beginning,” the hope is that a potential sequel would focus less on assembling mythology and more on giving humanity back to its heroes.
A Cautionary Start for Korean Animation Epics
Exorcism Chronicles: The Beginning proves that visual excellence cannot compensate for weak narrative design. It is both striking and frustrating, filled with imagination but lacking emotional rhythm.
Its ambition to craft a Korean fantasy mythos like Demon Slayer or Bleach is commendable, yet structure matters as much as spectacle.
The film’s team has proven Korea can deliver animation on par with Japan’s best. Now the challenge is achieving emotional storytelling that audiences can not only watch but truly feel. For all its promise, this beginning feels like a story searching for its reason to exist.
