HBO’s Sharp Objects is a miniseries about an investigative journalist, Camille Preaker (Amy Adams), that heads back to her small town of Wind Gap, Missouri, in order to get the inside scoop on the murder of a high school girl and the disappearance of a second girl several months later. On the surface, this description makes it sound like a standard tale of a mystery crime, perhaps painting it unjustly as a detective fiction where you try to figure out who the culprit is. But while this may be the main focus of the plot of the show, the direction and presentation shine brightest in the development of Camille’s character. From the first shot, you can see that Camille is distraught: she exclusively wears dark clothing, has a drinking problem, and doesn’t seem to know how to smile. But as the show slowly unravels her past and the depth of her issues, the intrigue associated with her past becomes just as important as the murder mystery unfolding in the present. Jean-Marc Vallée brings his signature style of flashbacks to the forefront (seen previously in the movie Wild) and uses it to portray a visualization of emotional pain that is, at least to me, unparalleled in TV specifically, and cinema in general.

The scene often cuts from a quiet moment in present-day Camille’s life to a flashback from her childhood and teenage years in Wind Gap. The transition is remarkably unique as the sounds of present-day Camille’s surroundings stay intact, instead of fading away or being masked by a low pitched sound rising in volume, as is conventional with flashbacks in films. The visuals, on the other hand, switch back and forth quickly between present and past before settling down into the past, at which point the sounds from the memory finally emerge. These flashbacks are often brought on by symbols and places that serve as reminders of specific memories. A mosquito buzzing above a bathtub, a spider crawling around in the garden, and roses all serve as traps that keep Camille wrestling with the trauma of her past. This portrayal of trauma is fiercely authentic to how memories tend to work in real life: objects and places serve as cues, the sound doesn’t fade away until you are deep in the memory and can remember the sounds of that memory, and the memory is often left half-explored as something distracting happens in the present. The way in which these incredibly moving memories are tied to the slow, layer-by-layer demystification of Camille’s past adds depth to her character incrementally, pulling the viewer closer and closer to her as she gets closer and closer to the centre of the present day mystery in Wind Gap. Long after the series is archived and the intrigue of the plot is moved far too up in group chats to access, the realness of Camille’s traumatic past, and the way in which her memories are presented, will stay with its viewers. And that is damn good directing.