Slow fade of ‘The Father’ connects
Alzheimer’s movie imparts a hopeful lesson.
By Ashley Lee
The first time I saw “The Father” was as a play with my father was more than a year ago. By then, Dad had become my go-to plus-one to shows all over Los Angeles. Neither of us grew up going to live theater regularly, and we consider it a treat every time. After each performance, we talk about what we loved and what we learned; oftentimes, our discussions about a show continue weeks or months after we see it.
The play, which playwright Florian Zeller describes on the title page of the script as “a tragic farce,” opens with a daughter, Anne, visibly frustrated that her father, Andre, has sent away yet another home attendant who must’ve swiped the watch he can’t find. Yet Andre, with a towering bravado and even a bit of charm, insists that he’s fine in the apartment on his own and that she worries way too much. It all plays out like the taping of a fasttalking sitcom, and the Pasadena Playhouse production’s audience of wrinkled, whitehaired patrons chuckled in unison at Andre’s punchlines.
The next scene sees Andre confronted by a man he’s never met before, who insists he’s lived at the apartment for years. Anne arrives, but Andre doesn’t recognize her — and neither does the audience, as she’s suddenly played by another actress. New Anne says there was no man, even though Andre, and everyone watching him, has definitely just met one.
“Are you having memory lapses or what?” Andre asks Anne, the giggling of the audience beginning to fade. “You’d better go and see someone, old girl. I’m talking about something that happened not two minutes ago!”
This is the clever framing of “The Father”: It brings the viewer inside Andre’s mind as it unravels. The play lets you think you know what’s happening, but apparently, you don’t.
“The Father” was the last show Dad and I saw together, in person and in a room full of strangers, before the COVID-19 shutdowns. In the months that followed, we often revisited the topic with new revelations, especially since he’s gotten more involved in the care of his own elderly parents, while the pandemic barred me from spending any time with mine. For him and his siblings, Anne’s urges for Andre to understand and accept the situation had become their own collective plea.
“That unwillingness to release control, and learning to allow people to help you, is so difficult,” Dad told me. “And I get it. Throughout your entire life, you’ve taken care of everything, including your kids, and then suddenly you have to depend on them for everything? And they are the ones telling you what to do? Of course, you’re not going to agree.”
The second time I saw “The Father” was as a film with my father was in October, when we streamed the film adaptation of the play while seated 6 feet apart in a large living room. The spread of the novel coronavirus had slowed for the time being and, after a negative COVID-19 test, I put on a mask and entered my parents’ house for the first time in seven months. It was the only time either of us had seen each other, or any loved ones outside our immediate households, since the pandemic began.
In the movie the camera lingers on the lone figure of Anthony Hopkins’ patriarch, accompanied only by ambient noise. These frames have become familiar to people like my dad’s parents, who have isolated themselves for their safety. “Getting older is so damn lonely,” he told me, “the days are so long, and the years are so short.”
“Aging is so difficult, because I think everyone has
HOW TO WATCH
What: Movie adaptation of“The Father”
Rated: PG-13 (for some strong language, and thematic material)
Running time: 1 hour, 37 minutes
Where: Streaming on Amazon Prime Video and Google Play secret dreams about what that time will be like,” Dad said after the film, speaking as someone who is currently caring for his parents and who might need such care down the line. “They say, ‘I’ll travel, I’ll lay on a beach, I’ll go golfing every Tuesday and Wednesday, I won’t have to answer to anyone. This is the life I’ve worked so hard for.’ And yet, something always gives up — the body or the mind, each on its own schedule. Meanwhile, the younger generation says, ‘Let us live. You had your turn, let us have ours.’ ”
At that moment, I wanted to cross the room and give him a hug. I wanted to tell him that he had plenty of time before he’d feel as if he were losing all his leaves and that my definition of “living” includes spending time with him, well before he can no longer remember my name or place my face. I wanted to tell him that any loneliness we have felt during the pandemic was bound to end very soon.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because there’s no telling if or when dementia may appear, just as there’s no cure. Instead, I left my parents’ house and, due to the coronavirus surge in L.A., I have not been back since.
I am lucky that I saw “The Father” alongside my father, onstage and on-screen. I am lucky that we live close enough to each other to meet up on a given night, that we can make time to enjoy a live performance together, that we both relish the chance to discuss the work afterward. I admit that this was not always the case — it took me far too long to view my parents as people distinct from their familial roles and myself as someone who could have a mutual friendship with them.
I want to get to know my parents better, before anyone moves away, before anyone’s mind deteriorates, before anyone dies. After all, “The Father” does not show us what Anne’s relationship with her father was like before the action begins, so its tragedy is doubled: He not only loses his autonomy and mental agility but with it also the lifetime of memories he once shared with his daughter. And to me, both outcomes are equally heartbreaking.
Before “The Father,” I had only just begun to get to know Dad — and now, thanks to the pandemic, I’ve already lost a year of that deepening connection. But as the county’s numbers level off and the vaccine distribution continues, I look forward to when we can safely sit side by side at the theater again, and for many years to come.