The Father

If David Spade were to review The Father, he would likely say, "I really liked The Father when I saw it back in 1997, under its original title Lost Highway."  The film is expertly crafted, and Anthony Hopkins unsurprisingly delivered an excellent performance, but the techniques used to portray the effects of dementia on the main character end up feeling somewhat gimmicky.  

I find that as time passes after I first view a film, my initial reaction melts away and is replaced with an impression of the given film.  This impression is peppered with distinct memories that support why I feel the way I do about the film.  For example, when I think of Chariots of Fire I can't help but feel joy; joy that comes from the music, from a runner wiping the sea-spray from his face to reveal a huge grin, and the line, “I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast.  And when I run I feel His pleasure.”  When I think back on watching The Father, my first thought goes to Fincher's Fight Club, and spatterings of films I've seen by Lynch.  Inevitably a director will make artistic decisions that do not work for every viewer, but a good director would be careful not to misuse techniques that evoke such strong memories of completely unrelated films.  Right now I am imagining an ending to The Father in which the daughter enters the apartment, places her scarf on the coat rack, picks up the letters that are strewn haphazardly on the entry table, and turns to see her father standing in the kitchen doorway.  Only instead of it being Anthony Hopkins, there dressed in a heavy grey sweater is a tall and brooding Daniel Day-Lewis.  Cut to black.  Ok, let's see if I can save that as my new memory of The Father.