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by Cláudio Alves
We always carry part of ourselves into the films we watch. Memories, past events, half-forgotten trauma and half-remembered dreams, inform how we perceive art, how it affects us and persists in our mind long after the screen fades to black. When dealing with a work about a universal experience like aging, we can only assume each viewer will see a slightly different picture. The Father I saw isn't The Father you'll see, or even The Father its makers intended to create. Many came out of the film raving about Sir Anthony Hopkins' tour-de-force as an old man suffering from dementia, his reality warped into a nightmare of perpetual disorientation. While I appreciate him a great deal, it's the work of another thespian that most affected me.
Ever since I watched the film weeks ago, I can't stop thinking about Olivia Colman's performance, how I saw myself in her, how I saw my parents in the character she portrays, how she broke my heart…
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