One cannot reproach Drift insofar as it seems to accomplish exactly what German writer-director-cinematographer-everythinger Helena Wittmann wanted. But as a practically plotless, almost dialogue-free narrative of looooong takes and near-abstract marine imagery, it is a specialty item with limited appeal for general viewership. Art-house screenings beckon in living rooms everywhere.
Two nameless women in Europe (Hamburg was the shooting location) spend a day together in rented rooms at the seaside, prior to one of them leaving for Argentina. Are they friends, or even lovers? Who can tell? The traveler boards a ship, and there are generous intervals of the rise and swell of ocean waves, sometimes with a bright moon overhead. Viewers prone to seasickness may be, well, prone to seasickness.
Thanks to internet video and Apple laptops, the pair reunite via webcam at the end, but are they really together? Were they ever? Has the voyage been a transformative experience, the end of one thing and the beginning of another?
Other filmmakers, with or without even the minuscule cast of Drift, have done features that are practically static items that could have been shown with a security camera (the most notorious examples perhaps being Andy Warhol features such as Sleep and Empire). Drift is akin to that, more of a video art installation than a conventional motion picture, even if it does have a three-act structure.
Unlike some other "experimental" cinema, there is nothing transgressive, shocking/provocative, or otherwise likely to give offense to general viewers. Drift is a piece with Wittmann's other features and short subjects that exhibit a deeply meditative fascination with water and the beguiling beauty of the seas. But it remains a staid specialty item that throws no lifeline or oar to viewers who want dry plots or solid-ground themes. An optional purchase for international collections.