Directed by Sean Mewshaw and written by Desiree Van Til, Tumbledown (2015) is a tender, offbeat romantic dramedy that explores love, grief, and the strange, funny process of moving on. Set in the snow-covered woods of Maine, the film centers on Hannah Miles (Rebecca Hall), a grieving widow and reluctant memoirist, and Andrew McCabe (Jason Sudeikis), a persistent New York professor who barges into her solitude looking for answers about her late husband—a cult folk musician whose legacy has become mythic since his death.
At first glance, Tumbledown may seem like a typical opposites-attract story, but it smartly subverts genre expectations. Rebecca Hall gives one of her most quietly powerful performances as Hannah—intelligent, guarded, sarcastic, and deeply wounded. Her grief is not performative, but lived-in; she’s not looking for closure, only for space. Sudeikis, often known for broader comedy, brings surprising depth and warmth as Andrew. He’s irritating at first, but slowly reveals a sincerity and emotional curiosity that disarms both Hannah and the audience.
The strength of the film lies in its blend of grief and humor, creating a tone that’s bittersweet but never heavy-handed. Van Til’s script is sharp, literary, and layered, filled with philosophical musings about love, art, and what it means to truly know someone. Mewshaw's direction complements the writing with a cozy, snow-dusted aesthetic that mirrors the emotional thaw happening between the characters.
Music plays a vital role in the film, both in plot and atmosphere. Hannah’s late husband, Hunter Miles, is a ghostly presence—his lyrics, legacy, and mystery serve as both a barrier and a bridge between the leads. The original songs by Damien Jurado help create a haunting folk backdrop, giving voice to a character we never meet but come to feel deeply.
Critically, Tumbledown was modestly received but earned praise for its performances and its nuanced portrayal of post-loss intimacy. It’s not a conventional romantic comedy, and that’s precisely its charm. Rather than racing toward romance, it lingers in the emotional gray areas where love can slowly, unexpectedly, re-emerge.
In a fictional continuation titled Tumbledown: After the Snow, we catch up with Hannah and Andrew several years later. Now co-teaching a course on music and memory at a New England liberal arts college, they live together in quiet, complicated contentment. But when a documentary crew arrives in town to film a tribute to Hunter Miles, Hannah is forced to revisit the narrative that Andrew helped her reshape.
The sequel would explore the tension between public memory and private truth. Hannah is no longer the reclusive widow, but still grapples with being seen only as “the woman he left behind.” Meanwhile, Andrew faces his own crisis of relevance as his academic work begins to feel detached from real life.
Set during a thawing spring instead of frozen winter, After the Snow would reflect emotional growth and new beginnings, asking: how do we carry love forward without losing who we’ve become?
