Ondine

Ondine (2009), directed by Neil Jordan, is a film that delicately balances emotional realism with the enchantment of Celtic mythology. Set along the misty Irish coastline of West Cork, the story follows Syracuse, a lonely fisherman played by Colin Farrell, who discovers a mysterious woman caught in his fishing nets. The woman, played by Alicja Bachleda, is soon named Ondine, and her arrival transforms Syracuse’s daily life—especially through the eyes of his daughter Annie, a perceptive, wheelchair-using child who believes the stranger is a selkie, a mythical sea creature capable of moving between the human world and the ocean. For Annie, Ondine can only be something magical, and from this belief the story unfolds as a modern-day fable. But Jordan’s script, also penned by him, resists easy escapism. There’s a constant tension between the possible and the fantastical, between adult skepticism and childlike hope.

The film’s strength lies in the way it embraces this tension between fantasy and grounded reality. Jordan leads us through a narrative that flirts with the supernatural but never fully abandons the terrain of plausibility. Christopher Doyle’s cinematography plays a crucial role in maintaining this ambiguity. The muted tones, diffused lighting, misty hills, and vast seascapes compose a visual atmosphere saturated with melancholy and mystery. It’s not through visual effects or editing tricks that the film evokes magic, but through suggestion, through the way nature is captured—as if the landscape itself holds a knowing presence.

Colin Farrell delivers one of the most restrained and emotionally resonant performances of his career. His Syracuse is a man weighed down by exhaustion, alcoholism, personal failure, and a complicated relationship with his ex-wife and daughter. Yet there remains a flicker of hope in him, a silent desire for redemption that resurfaces with Ondine’s arrival. Farrell’s acting is understated, physically grounded, and believable in its emotional arc. Alicja Bachleda, in turn, constructs an Ondine who seems to hover between two worlds. There’s something distant and ethereal about her, but also a vulnerability that slowly comes to the surface. Her performance doesn’t rely on grand gestures—she convinces through her silences, her gaze, the way she listens.

The young Alison Barry, as Annie, is perhaps the film’s soul. Her character is the one most deeply invested in the story’s magical dimension, and it’s through her hopeful, imaginative perspective that we too are invited to question what is real. Barry brings a mix of intelligence, pain, and delight to her role, transforming Annie into a memorable figure who doesn’t seek pity, but participation. Her performance feels genuine, never forced, and anchors the film in emotional authenticity. The relationship between her, Syracuse, and Ondine forms the emotional core of the story, and it is here that the film shines most: in showing how love and affection can emerge from despair, how moments of intimacy can bloom even in the most ordinary of lives.

Kjartan Sveinsson’s score, complemented by music from Sigur Rós, deepens this atmosphere of subtle enchantment. The soundtrack never overwhelms; instead, it lingers like a tide in the background, enhancing the lyrical mood of each scene. One particularly striking moment is when Ondine sings while Syracuse is fishing. As her voice floats across the sea, the nets fill miraculously with fish. It’s a moment of eerie beauty, where magic and reality seem indistinguishable. That scene alone encapsulates the film’s emotional power: the possibility of wonder embedded in the mundane.

Still, Ondine is not without its flaws. The greatest risk it takes comes in the final act, when Jordan grounds the story more firmly in reality, introducing a plot twist that attempts to rationalize the mythic undertones built up until that point. For viewers enchanted by the film’s gentle ambiguity, this shift might feel jarring, a break in the emotional spell. The abrupt explanation reduces the film’s lyrical possibilities and weakens the delicately crafted tension. Nevertheless, the transition doesn’t fully undermine the narrative’s emotional coherence, as the characters’ connections remain moving and sincere.

With Ondine, Neil Jordan revisits themes central to his filmography—moral ambiguity, the power of storytelling, desire as a transformative force—but here, everything is more subdued, more intimate. This is a modest film in terms of scale, but a deep one in terms of emotional resonance. Silence often speaks louder than dialogue, landscapes communicate more than narration, and beauty is found not in spectacle but in small gestures and subtle transformations. It’s a film about believing in miracles, about the healing power of connection, and about the fragility of hope in a world too quick to explain away the unexplainable.

Even if the magic ultimately dissolves, what remains is the impression that, for a short time, we too believed in selkies, in second chances, and in the mysterious arrival of love from the sea.

Ondine (2009 / Ireland, United States)
Direction: Neil Jordan
Screenplay: Neil Jordan
Cast: Colin Farrell, Alicja Bachleda‑Curuś, Alison Barry, Stephen Rea, Dervla Kirwan
Running Time: 111 min.