Callum Ward
Some films arrive with the quiet promise of changing how we think about storytelling. The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby was one of them. Released in various forms between 2013 and 2014, it offered a rare cinematic experiment: one story told three different ways. On paper, it sounded like the sort of idea that critics, cinephiles and adventurous audiences would embrace. In practice, it became a fascinating footnote in film history—respected for its ambition, yet sidelined commercially and never fully repeated.
Three Films, One Story
At its core, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby is a romantic drama about a marriage in crisis. But instead of one definitive cut, writer-director Ned Benson split the narrative into three versions.
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Him: told entirely from the husband’s perspective (James McAvoy), framing the story through his memories, biases, and emotional lens.
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Her: told from the wife’s perspective (Jessica Chastain), giving equal weight to her interpretation of events.
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Them: a combined cut, weaving scenes from both sides into a more conventional two-hour runtime for wider release.
The ambition was clear: Benson wanted to explore the subjectivity of relationships, how truth shifts depending on who’s telling it. The approach carried echoes of stage plays with alternating acts, literary experiments in split narratives, showcasing intimate filmmaking on a conceptual scale.
The Release That Undermined the Vision
In theory, Benson’s trilogy of perspectives was tailor-made for festival buzz. And at first, it worked. Him and Her premiered to interest and praise at the 2013 Toronto International Film Festival, with critics noting the novelty of seeing two separate films enrich each other when viewed together. The wider rollout, however, told a different story. Only Them – the combined version – received significant theatrical distribution. The individual cuts were limited to select festivals and tiny arthouse runs, which meant most audiences never experienced the experiment as intended.
Marketing was another hurdle. Selling one film is challenging enough. Selling three interlinked films without alienating viewers is nearly impossible. For casual moviegoers, it raised practical questions: “Do I have to see all three? In what order? Will I be lost if I don’t?” Instead of being framed as an exciting artistic event, it risked coming across as homework.
Critics largely appreciated Ned Benson’s ambition. The performances from James McAvoy and Jessica Chastain were praised, as was the decision to give each perspective its own tone and rhythm. But, the combined cut, Them, drew a cooler response. By blending the two stories into a single timeline, much of the structural daring was lost.
For audiences, the experiment was harder to sell. Many never realized there was more than one version, and those who did sometimes felt watching all three was excessive for what was, at its heart, a small-scale drama. It was a project that relied heavily on curiosity and patience—two qualities not always rewarded at the box office.
Why No One Followed Suit
On a purely practical level, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby ran into the brick wall of theatrical logistics. Showing three separate cuts meant tripling screen time requirements in an industry already squeezed by blockbuster tentpoles. Even dedicated art cinemas would have struggled to keep such a project in rotation.
From a studio perspective, the risk outweighed the reward. The concept required audiences willing to buy multiple tickets for variations of the same story—something far easier to imagine in theory than to execute in reality. Back in 2014, streaming hadn’t yet become the dominant platform it is today. At the time, there was no easy digital ecosystem to encourage audiences to watch each cut at their own pace. Other films have experimented with perspective shifts, but none took the three-complete-films approach. Ned Benson’s gamble was unique, and perhaps too far ahead of its distribution environment.
Would It Work Now?
In today’s streaming-first world, it’s tempting to imagine The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby finding the audience it missed. Platforms like Netflix, Amazon or Max could present Him and Her side by side, allowing viewers to choose their order and pace. The combined cut could still serve as an entry point, but without erasing the original structure. Streaming audiences are now more accustomed to unconventional formats – from the branching narrative of Black Mirror: Bandersnatch to the fractured timelines of shows like The OA and Dark. In that context, Benson’s idea feels less alien and more like a prestige experiment that could spark discussion and repeat viewing.
The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby remains a cinematic curiosity as a work that is ambitious, heartfelt and quietly innovative. It proved that mainstream actors and modest budgets could still be paired with bold formal experimentation. However, it also revealed the limits of innovation in a theatrical market driven by clarity and efficiency. Perhaps the biggest lesson from The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby is that timing is everything. In 2013 and 2014, the infrastructure to support such a concept just wasn’t there. A decade later, with audiences more open to experimental storytelling and technology better suited to delivering it, Ned Benson’s vision might finally have had a fair shot.
