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 How I Killed My Father
(2001)
Director:
Anne Fontaine
Stars: Michel Bouquet, Charles Berling, Natacha Régnier, Amira Casar
Release Company:
New Yorker Films
MPAA Rating: NR
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Le Pont Saint-Benezet at Avignon
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"How do we forgive our fathers . . .
for leaving us too often, or forever when we are young
And should we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness...
for speaking through walls, or never speaking,
or never being silent..."
Sherman Alexie
Many sons face a midlife point where they must deal with their fathers. Males often construct cold and aloof silent walls between each other that masks underlying feelings, and inevitable self-doubts creep in that cause sons to wonder if their fathers truly loves them. Such a scenario underlies Anne Fontaine's intense psychological drama How I Killed My Father (Comment j'ai tu mon pere), in which a successful forty-year-old Parisian gerontologist confronts his long estranged father.
Opening with a scene at Jean-Luc's (Charles Berling) clinic where a fifty-year-old client explains why he keeps emotionally distant from his two-year old son, the film challenges notions of traditional paternal reconciliation—there is no easy path in this drama. Jean-Luc contrasts sharply from his father, Maurice (Michel Bouquet), with his nouveau riche suburban lifestyle doctoring rich clients while his philanthropic father had practiced medicine in Africa. While Maurice physically abandoned his family years ago, Jean-Luc emotionally abandons his childless wife Isa (Natacha Regnier) with loveless affairs and stifles his younger brother Patrick (Stephane Guillon) with a comfortable dead end job as personal chauffeur. Despite being feted by his grateful patients at Gatsby-esque gatherings, Jean-Luc's life remains as sterile and empty as his marriage. He looks with envy at his father, who easily gets along with his wife and handles people so gracefully.
Maurice harbors no hard feelings towards his estranged son, nor towards his unknown son Patrick. He is completely relaxed and charming, rebuffing Jean-Luc's suspicions that he has returned due to dire financial straits by tearing up a substantial check when given one in a demeaning hostile manner. Just why has Maurice returned? Since much of the film is shown from Jean-Luc's point of view, we might assume that a final reconciliation is in order; however, such a stereotypical happenstance may not be in the cards. At one point the father shocks with his unorthodox response, "I'm not obliged to love you." Not every man who lives a successful life is watered with unconditional parental love; at some point he has to rely on his own devices. Maurice understands himself and others deeply enough to balance combine honesty with "therapy."
Fontaine's unsentimental film ranks among the finest offerings of 2002, and parallels Bergman's Autumn Sonata. Ironic that the best explorations of mother-daughter relationships come from the Swedish master and now the most thorough cinematic examination of a father-son relationship is engineered by Fontaine, perhaps these keen observers deal best when not directly confronted with the specific gender-based issues themselves. Her previous films also indicate a predilection for psychological studies—1993's Love Affairs Usually End Badly and 1997's Dry Cleaning (about a small town drag queen), but How I Killed My Father promises to be a landmark film that will stand for years.
While significantly strong due to its ambiguity (audiences will forever discuss whether Maurice's final return is real and whether Jean-Luc grows as a character or remains empty and shallow), the acting alone makes this outstanding character study a must see. Deservedly winning a Cesar (the French equivalent of an Oscar) for Best Actor, Michel Bouquet quietly becomes the charming father with a multi-layered performance and plays off Berling's perplexed character flawlessly. Trademark American triteness and simplicity are tossed out the window with the intelligent French drama that deftly explores the difficult relationship between a father and son. There are no set formulas to reconcile past injuries, and the nuanced performances confirm that truism in very real dramatic form. |
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