Strangers in Paradise: The Radical Loneliness of Turtle Diary

I first encountered John Irvin’s 1985 filmTurtle Diary more than adecade ago, drawn by its Harold Pinter screenplay and all-star cast, including Oscar winners Glenda Jackson and Ben Kingsley. Icame away convinced Ihad found an overlooked gem, but in the years that followed, this sweet film remained obscure, never even getting aDVD release. Upon revisiting it for the fortieth anniversary, and wondering if it was worth rediscovering, Irealised the film is now the same age as most of its characters, all of whom, in one way or another, are conspicuously alone, being either divorced, widowed, or just single. Not only is this unusual in afilm Iremembered as aromantic comedy, it’s just one example of how quietly unconventional itis.

Like Bill Forsyth’sLocal Hero – its better-known contemporary –Turtle Diary is an environmental film whose most potent weapon amidst the garish cinema of the ​‘80s was understatedness.Based on anovel by Russell Hoban, it tells the story of two lonely Londoners: Neara (Jackson), asuccessful children’s author, and William (Kingsley), who works in abookshop. They meet in London Zoo, where they hatch aplan to steal two sea turtles and release them into thewild.

The film begins with the pair as strangers, watching the turtles swimming in claustrophobic semidarkness. In their own lives they are both stuck: Neaera is bored of writing children’s books about anthropomorphised animals whilst William lives in abedsit following the collapse of his marriage and business career. The setup is pure romcom – the pair get a ​‘meet cute’ outside the aquarium and there’s even amatchmaker in George the zookeeper (Michael Gambon) – but Neaera’s yearning for aconnection beyond the romantic is foregrounded when her vigil is interrupted by two young lovers going through abreakup, one telling the other, ​“It’s toolate.”

Marketed as awhimsical caper comedy, what appears disarmingly low-key on the surface is stealthily radical, much like its unassuming protagonists, who dissent not only in their eco-heroism but in their lifestyle choices. What emerges is alove story in which the romance isnon-romantic,normalising and even celebrating singledom in ways that feel perhaps more resonant in today’s atomised dating landscape than they did at thetime.

The pair’s relationship blossoms along the chaste lines ofBrief Encounter, though their non-romance is platonic rather than polite. Spurred on by the illicit idea of freeing the turtles, William launches into adalliance with his younger coworker Harriet (Harriet Walter), suggesting amidlife crisis similar to that underpinning the May/​December affair in Sofia Coppola’sLost in Translation. It is only after Neaera has an impressionistic nightmare involving ashark attack, which she claims represents William’s death, that he is willing to accept her help, along with the suggestion of adeeper, less egocentric reason for the crusade.

Much of the film’s subtlety lies in capturing the imperceptible moments when life changes, and how mundane these often are. The turtles’ triumphal return to the waves marks the climax of Neaera and William’s peculiar love story, but rather than being ahappy ending it is followed by an awkward, almost post-coital uncertainty, after which they return to London and their separate lives. Only then does Neaera’s longed-for sense of connection unexpectedly manifest in the form of aliberating one-night stand with George.

Outside of the aquarium, the film is rich in memorable character cameos, including William’s DIY-loving landlady Mrs. Inchcliffe (Rosemary Leech) and Neaera’s neighbour Mr. Johnson (Richard Johnson), a ​‘confirmed bachelor’ who spends his life travelling and is secretive about his work, playfully leaning into the old association between homosexuality and spying. In such ways the film presents aneveryday world in which alternatives to heteronormative lifestyles are the norm, demonstrating toNeaera and Williamthe many ways in which it is possible to be alone without being lonely. At one point, they have lunch together at the London Zoo café, which Pinter used twenty years earlier as the setting for amuch creepier encounter between Anne Bancroft and James Mason inThe Pumpkin Eater. If that film painted ahorrifyingly toxic picture of straight suburban life,Turtle Diary shows versions of its characters who narrowly escaped fromit.

In many classic London romcoms, fromFour Weddings and aFuneral toBridget Jones’ Diary, loneliness and aloneness are treated as one and the same, makingTurtle Diary​’s non-judgemental treatment of its characters all the more valuable in light of current conversations around loneliness and mental health. Although the portrayal of single life is mostly positive(spoilers ahead), it also includes the glamorously enigmatic Miss Neap (Eleanor Bron), William’s neighbour who commits suicide, but whose body he only discovers after returning from the ocean. Even then, far from being astereotypical spinster (think ​‘Miss Lonelyhearts’ inRear Window), she is an intensely private person whose actions are presented as her choice to remain alone, one that prompts the first open, honest conversation between William and his silently macho neighbour, Sandor (Jeroen Krabbé).

It would be easy to dismiss the film as acomedy of middle-class manners, populated by quirky, middle-aged caricatures, but by focusing on older people, it offers anuanced reflection of how our expectations of each other can change over time. When Harriet – the only major character under forty – reacts jealously to William’s relationship with Neaera, he replies, ​“Everything isn’tsex.”

After its original release,Turtle Diary was forgotten,astudy in loneliness so effective that it seemed content to be alone itself, enjoying adiscreet afterlife of drifting around, not minding when the few who noticed it were too shallow to pay much attention.The idea of freeing the turtles occurs to William after he learns they are the same age as himself. Now that the film is that age as well, perhaps its fate should echo that of the turtles, and be liberated from obscurity so that its vision of aloneness can be enjoyed by everyone.