The 50 best films of 2020 in the US: No 5 – The Father
of gaslighting. Rather than placing us with a beleaguered family member such as Anne as many films about this t’s rare to encounter a film like subject often do, writer-director Zeller, The Father, a sterling, Oscaradapting his acclaimed play, forces us worthy chamber piece of inarinto Anthony’s fractured, unnerving, guably high quality but one exhausting world where not only dethat I would hesitate before intails shift but faces and places do, all stantly, enthusiastically recommending within the blink of an eye. Sometimes to most. It’s exquisitely acted and his daughter is someone else, played impressively, at times ingeniously, diby Olivia Williams, sometimes she’s rected, and yet it deserves to be accommarried, sometimes she’s not, somepanied by a severe warning, one that times he’s in his flat, sometimes he’s will prove indispensable to certain in hers. What could have been anothviewers who’ll not just find it difficult er worthy disease-of-the-week movie is to watch but close to impossible. transformed into something far more
It’s a drama about dementia that terrifying and in turn, far more effecplays more like a horror,tive.litbyaslow-Anthony,playedbyAnthonyHopkins.toldbyhisdaughterAnne,playedby burn terror that something awful is He’s convinced that it’s some sort of Olivia Colman, whose stubborn inconIt’s an unspeakably uncomfortable happening to its elderly protagonist trick, a pack of unending lies being sistency starts to read as some form subject for those who know what it
Ifeels like to watch someone slowly disappear and it’s a film that will rightfully be avoided as a result. I can’t say that it provides much in the way of solace but it does humanise a character who we’re used to seeing patronised from a distance, with precious little depth. Aging on screen is still handled with kid gloves and with broad strokes, if handled at all, whether that be a result of our collective obsession with youth or a fear of truly confronting what comes next. But in Zeller’s tough-minded yet empathetic film, he refuses to shy away from the grit as well as the humanity, never losing sight of just how Anthony is feeling and how terrifying this grind of confusion must be. The most
heartbreaking moments are often when he pretends to understand what he’s being confronted with rather than angrily reacting, a sad acceptance of a life of whiplash unpredictability.
We’re in his flat for the most part but Zeller avoids the obvious accusation of staginess by constantly rearranging what we see in front of us, making us as confused as Anthony, dragging us deeper into the fog along with him. Our emotional investment is also secured by a sensational performance by Hopkins, registering every flicker of confusion and anger and upset in ways that slowly shatter because we not only see an elderly relative but we also see ourselves and what might happen when our brains start to betray us too. It’s the best he’s ever been, after a period of lesser challenges, a detailed and devastating turn that reminds us of the sheer, hard-to-rival power he possesses as an actor.
The Father is a hard film to endure but then so it should be.
The Father is a hard film to endure but then so it should be
should be punished. But at least, don’t hide him in dark torture cells,” she says. Malik never saw her son again: she died soon after speaking to the Guardian.
In 2013, a group from the Quetta camp marched 1,500 miles to Islamabad to demand the release of family members but they faced threats and police intimidation along the way.
Meanwhile, the body count keeps rising. In September, in Chaghi, Balochistan, a decomposed body was found. Hafeezullah Mohammed Hasni was abducted from his home on 30 August 2016, and a military officer demanded 6.8m rupees for his release. Though the family paid the money and the officer was later imprisoned for corruption, Hasni was still not released. Every day for the past four years, his daughter Muqaddas, only a year old when her father was taken, had stood at the protest camp in Quetta holding his picture.
The coroner said Hasni had been dead for at least three years. His mother fainted at the news and it was his brother who had to identify the mutilated body. “His clothes, shoes, socks, are the same that he wore that day,” was all his brother Nematullah could utter.
For many, the agony is compounded by the fact they never recover a body. Abdul Wahid, a professor of English in Quetta, spoke of the pain of not knowing what happened to his son Rehmatullah, who was abducted on 18 January 2015 as he drove home in the days before his upcoming wedding. Wahid believes the paramilitary Frontier Corps is responsible, but has not registered an official case into his kidnapping.
“There are thousands of registered cases of enforced disappearances,” says Wahid, his voice shaking with grief. “Has anyone got justice from courts and police? We can’t fight the powerful and so we just pray that they release my son.”
Pausing to wipe away tears, he says: “It is terrifying that I don’t know whether my son is alive or dead. I have to lie to my parents that their grandson will come back soon.”
For the thousands of wives and fiancées of men who disappear, life remains in limbo. Tradition dictates that they cannot remarry or break their engagement without a body, so they are often outcast from society, neither a wife nor a widow. Rehana, fiancée of missing Rehmatullah, has been waiting more than five years. “We were both so happy that we were going to get married, but all of a sudden everything vanished,” says Rehana. “I pray to God he’s safe and comes back. I am waiting for him.
Human rights minister Shireen Mazari said a bill criminalising enforced disappearances in progress. “We have drafted a bill. Law ministry has it. Consultation is going on with all stakeholders on this,” says Mazari.
However, the Guardian understands the law ministry has made multiple objections to the bill, and it has not been presented to parliament.
For those who do return, the fear and information blackout around the abductions can be hard to bear. Many suffer post-traumatic stress. Mamnoon* was picked up by paramilitaries during dinner with friends at a crowded hotel in Karachi in October 2017.
After two days of beatings and torture for information on a man he barely knew, Mamnoon was locked in a small dark cell on his own, where he felt himself drift into madness. “I saw nobody except one person used to visit me and tell me I was finished, that they will kill me and throw away my dead body,” he says.
After a year in isolation, Mamnoon was released but flashbacks regularly take him back to that dark cell. He has no expectation of justice. “This is my second life,” he says.
*Names have been changed to protect identities
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