It has been a few years since we first saw that grainy MiniDV footage of a young father dancing in a Turkish resort, yet the impact of Paul Mescal in Aftersun hasn't faded. If anything, it’s grown. You’ve probably seen the edits on TikTok or heard people talk about "that ending" with a thousand-yard stare. But why? Mescal wasn't playing a superhero or a historical titan. He was playing Calum, a 30-year-old dad who is, quite frankly, drowning while trying to keep his 11-year-old daughter, Sophie, afloat.
Honestly, it’s a masterclass in what isn't said.
Mescal’s performance earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor, a feat that felt like a win for "quiet" cinema. In a world of loud, transformative performances where actors wear prosthetics or scream at the rafters, Mescal did something much harder. He showed us the face of a man who is exhausted by the simple act of existing.
The Magic of the "Girl Dad" Energy
One thing most people get wrong about Aftersun is thinking it’s a miserable movie. It’s not. For a large chunk of the runtime, it’s actually quite warm. Paul Mescal and newcomer Frankie Corio had this lightning-in-a-bottle chemistry that felt less like "actor and child star" and more like two people who had actually spent a lifetime together.
Director Charlotte Wells gave them two weeks before filming just to hang out. They went to the beach. They played. They built a rapport that makes the "sibling-like" dynamic of a young father work. Calum is often mistaken for Sophie’s brother in the film, and Mescal leans into that youthful, almost reckless energy. He’s the dad who lets you stay up late but also the one who is clearly figuring out how to be an adult on the fly.
The way he looks at Sophie? That’s the core of the movie. It’s a mix of pure, unadulterated love and a crushing guilt that he might not be enough for her.
Why the "Under Pressure" Scene Is Still Iconic
You can't talk about Paul Mescal Aftersun without talking about the "Under Pressure" sequence. It’s arguably one of the best uses of a needle drop in the last decade.
By the time the song kicks in, we’ve seen the cracks. We’ve seen Calum spitting at his own reflection in a bathroom mirror. We’ve seen him sobbing alone on the edge of a bed, his back to the camera, in a shot that feels like we’re intruding on something we shouldn't see.
Then comes the dance.
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The film cuts between the 1990s vacation—where Calum and Sophie are awkwardly, lovingly swaying—and a surreal, strobe-lit rave. In the rave, an adult Sophie (played by Celia Rowlson-Hall) is trying to grab onto her father, who is dancing frantically, almost violently. It’s a visual metaphor for memory. She’s trying to reach the version of him she didn't understand as a kid.
Mescal’s physicality here is wild. He’s not "dancing" in the fun sense; he’s exorcising demons.
Breaking the "Tough Guy" Trope
What makes this role so vital in the context of Mescal’s career—right before he jumped into massive projects like Gladiator II—is how it handles male vulnerability.
Calum isn't "sad" because of a specific plot point. There’s no big reveal that he lost his job or went through a specific trauma (though the movie hints at a difficult childhood). He’s just... struggling. Mescal portrays depression not as a series of dramatic outbursts, but as a heavy fog.
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- The Tai Chi: Watching him do Tai Chi on the balcony is almost painful. It’s a man desperately trying to "self-help" his way out of a hole.
- The Rug: He buys an expensive Turkish rug he can't afford. It’s a futile attempt to provide something permanent, something "collectible," for a life he feels is temporary.
- The "I can't see myself at 40" line: It’s a throwaway comment to a diving instructor, but delivered with such flat honesty that it chills you.
Mescal doesn't ask for your pity. He just shows you the reality.
The Legacy of Calum Paterson
Looking back from 2026, Aftersun feels like the moment Paul Mescal solidified himself as the defining actor of his generation. He has this "everyman" quality that’s rare. You feel like you know him. Or more accurately, you feel like you know someone like him.
The movie is "emotionally autobiographical" for director Charlotte Wells, and you can feel that truth in every frame. It’s about the realization that our parents are people, too—separate from their roles as providers or protectors. They have entire worlds inside them that we might never gain access to.
What You Should Do Next
If you’ve already seen the film and find yourself thinking about it months later, you aren't alone. It’s designed to linger.
- Watch the "Script to Screen" breakdowns. Seeing how Charlotte Wells and Mescal planned the "camera-evading" movements of Calum adds a whole new layer to his performance.
- Listen to the soundtrack. Oliver Coates’ score, particularly the way it deconstructs "Under Pressure," is a haunting companion to the visual storytelling.
- Pay attention to the reflections. The film is obsessed with them—TV screens, windows, water. It’s all about seeing something indirectly, which is exactly how Sophie remembers her father.
Ultimately, Paul Mescal in Aftersun isn't just a performance. It's a reminder that the most profound stories don't need a massive budget. They just need an actor who isn't afraid to be quiet, and a director who knows how to listen.
Check out Mescal's earlier work in Normal People if you haven't, but be prepared—the "Mescal Effect" usually involves a lot of staring at a wall for an hour after the credits roll.