Anthony Hopkins

The Father



It’s been over a month since the 2021 Oscars, where The Father won awards for best male actor and best adapted screenplay, but somehow it seems I’ve been eagerly awaiting its arrival for much longer than that. It’s finally here, available to view on the big screen, where its powerful narrative pulses from every frame.

Anthony Hopkins is, it seems, the oldest recipient of the best actor award and we know, don’t we, that sometimes such honours are handed out because it’s late in an actor’s career and there might not be another chance to reward him? But make no mistake, his performance in the lead role is a genuine tour de force. As ‘Anthony,’ a widowed man enduring the terrifying, mind-scrambling rigours of Alzheimer’s, he pulls out all the stops, taking his character through a range of moods and manifestations – from grandstanding showoff to sly insinuator – before delivering a final, desperate scene that is absolutely devastating.

Those seeking a rollicking, sidesplitting comedy should be warned: this is not the film for you.

Anthony – when we first encounter him – is living alone in his spacious London apartment, where he’s receiving regular visits from his compassionate daughter, Anne (Olivia Colman). Anthony has recently dismissed his paid carer, claiming that she’s stolen his watch, and he’s adamant that he will not, under any circumstances, move out of the place that he has always regarded as home. But as the story progresses, the touchstones of his life crumble one by one as the familiar things around him begin to change at a terrifying rate. The place doesn’t look the same… items have been moved, rearranged. Anthony’s favourite painting is missing… and why does somebody by the name of Paul (Mark Gatiss) parade around saying that this is actually his apartment? Who is Paul exactly? Anne’s ex-husband? If so, who’s the other Paul (Rufus Sewell), and why does he act like he owns the place? And what’s all this nonsense about Anne moving to Paris?

Perhaps the new home help, Laura (Imogen Poots), might be able to put things in order, but why does she remind Anthony so much of his other daughter, Lucy, the one he seems to have lost touch with? And most bewildering of all, why is it that sometimes, even Anne appears to be a different person than she used to be?

Florian Zeller’s astonishing film, adapted from his stage play, unfolds almost like a psychological horror story, as Anthony struggles to take in what’s happening to him. While I expected this to be bleak, I’m not fully prepared for the power with which it hits me. There’s doubtless extra impact because, for the last ten years of her life, my own mother was afflicted by Alzheimer’s and I recognise many of the beats here as being absolutely authentic. Perhaps that’s why the tears are rolling so copiously down my face.

Despite being confined mostly to one set, The Father never feels stage bound, because so much of what I can see onscreen is in a constant state of flux and because, at times, I feel every bit as unsettled as Anthony does. I’m never entirely sure where a scene is taking place, when it it is set and who is present in it – and that’s not meant as a criticism, but as an observation about the story’s unsettling grip on me. While there was aways a danger of The Father being completely dominated by Hopkin’s extraordinary performance, Colman is as excellent as always, managing to kindle the audience’s sympathy with a mere glance. And Olivia Williams is also compelling as the film’s most enigmatic character.

I walk out of the cinema, bleary-eyed from crying and, if I still have a few unanswered questions, well, that feels exactly right. This is an assured film that handles its difficult subject with rare skill.

So, worth the wait? Most definitely. But maybe remember to take some hankies?

5 Stars

Philip Caveney




This fast moving pyscho-thriller, directed by Alfonso Poyart and executive-produced by its star, Anthony Hopkins was originally intended as a follow up to Se7en and it certainly treads similar territory, though it has to be said, with rather less spectacular results. A killer is at large in the city of Atlanta, despatching his disparate victims with a single stab wound to the base of the skull and the FBI are frankly, baffled. Agent Joe Merriweather (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) turns to his old colleague, John Clancy, (Hopkins) a psychic who has worked with him on previous cases but who has retired since the death of his young daughter from leukaemia. At first, Clancy is adamant that he doesn’t want to get back in the game but a brief encounter with Joe’s partner, Agent Katherine Cowls (Abbie Cornish) grants him a disturbing vision of her future and persuades him to change his mind. Once on the case, he soon uncovers the fact that all the murder victims are linked by one thing they have in common…

To be fair, the film is slickly directed and well acted by its cast, but it’s fatally skewered by the fact that Clancy’s abilities are so pronounced, he comes across as some kind of psychic superhero, leaving his FBI partners with very little to contribute to the proceedings. One quick touch of the deceased (or one of their possessions … or a flower they recently touched…) unleashes a whole barrage of cinematic images in his head, which act as a kind of conduit for him to anticipate the killer’s every move. Not only does this seem quite ridiculous, it kills any sense of suspense the story might have generated.

In the film’s final third, the killer steps into the spotlight only to reveal that (oh boy) he is psychic too, whereupon all hope of rescuing this movie goes straight out of the nearest window. A shame, because it’s nicely done and entertaining in its own, galumphing way. Those who actually believe in the supernatural may enjoy this more than I did, but honestly, if so-called psychics really were this adept, police forces across the world would have a much easier time of it.

3.2 stars

Philip Caveney

vaguely vaguely