Aftersun is the kind of film that makes you wonder if being a parent, a child of divorce, and/or knowing someone with suicidal tendencies is a prerequisite to get much out of it.

So little happens in the feature debut of Scottish writer/director Charlotte Wells that a personal connection with Sophie (Celia Rowlson-Hall, Vox Lux) reflecting on a trip to Turkey that she took as an 11-year-old (played by newcomer Frankie Corio) with her youthful father Calum (Paul Mescal, The Lost Daughter) is the film’s only hope at making an impression.

Though the vacation is clearly important to Sophie in her current life, 20 years later as a spouse and mother, and sparks multiple revisits of the footage that was taken, calling it a “fateful” journey would be a stretch seeing as little of consequence occurs.

Sure, there’s the creeping sense that it’s the last holiday they’ll have while she’s still “daddy’s little girl,” and scenes between Sophie and fellow young tourist Michael (Brooklyn Toulson) convey the beautiful innocence of a young crush and its flirtations with adulthood.

But neither storyline inspires significant change in father or daughter, which further begs the question of why Sophie is so preoccupied with the trip, despite the meditations yielding Aftersun’s most compelling scenes, where past and present collide in a dreamscape with adult Sophie encountering her father on a chaotic dance floor.

The closest viewers get to an answer are vague, intriguing hints of self-harm, and what very well may be the last time Charlotte sees her father, yet these brief, emotionally-rich moments are sandwiched between such nothingness that it’s difficult to care beyond a basic humanist level.

Perhaps too personal a tale for Wells to provide an accessible perspective, her camera nevertheless captures the Turkish countryside and seascapes with a Call Me By Your Name-esque reverence, adding scenic beauty to what could very well be dramatic catnip for that very specific set of audience members. Otherwise, it’s merely window dressing on esoteric subject matter.

Grade: C. Rated R. Now playing at the Fine Arts Theatre

(Photo: A24)