It’s become cliche to describe movies as acts of empathy (even though that can be one of their greatest attributes), yet The Father is almost literally such a thing.
Starring Anthony Hopkins as Anthony, a London octogenarian dealing with worsening dementia, the movie puts us—if not in his shoes—in his confused, uncertain state of mind. Having different actors appear in the same parts (then also playing secondary ones); looping conversations in a circular manner; not even making it clear which space the story takes place in—Anthony’s flat, or that of his daughter, Anne (Olivia Colman)—The Father ensures that our understanding is as discombobulated as the title character’s.
Writer-director Florian Zeller, adapting his own play with the help of co-writer Christopher Hampton, almost cruelly increases the dial on our misunderstanding. The first time Olivia Williams appears and Anthony identifies her as his daughter, we think we may have missed something. The same occurs when bits of dialogue are repeated. (Didn’t they say that before?) And while the use of space probably isn’t much different from what was done on the stage, the subtle changes to the rooms of the flat—as well as who comes in and out of the various doors—are crucial to upsetting our equilibrium.
As for Hopkins, he gives a precisely observed performance, capturing Anthony’s confusion without limiting the character to that single quality. He’s dazzling, for example, when turning on the charm for a potential new caregiver. Later, in a small but crucial moment of happiness, he’s sweet and smiling as Anthony watches a boy play with a plastic bag in the wind outside his window. Mostly, though, this is a showcase for the actor’s extraordinary talent with line readings. When Anthony asks at one point, “What’s going to become of me?” Hopkins somehow delivers the line so that it’s both a casual aside and a cry from a dark night of the soul. At other times, he knows that such layering would overdo it. After dismissing or berating Anne through much of the movie—even, in a moment of cruel, unfiltered honesty, stating that she was never his favorite child—he offers this, almost as an afterthought: “Anne, thank you for everything.” Any more emphasis would kill the moment, so Hopkins just lets go of the words as if he were setting down a teacup.
Even amidst its emphasis on Anthony’s confusion, The Father makes room for Anne’s hurt and bewilderment too. Of course Colman’s own talent for layering emotions—especially the way her eyes echo the nervousness in her otherwise easy smile—also have a lot to do with this. That Colman’s Anne is offscreen for the final, crushing moments is something of a shame, but given the movie’s main objective—to capture a mind adrift and alone—it’s also devastatingly apropos.
