Ominousness lurks in Otec (Father) right from the opening sequence of happy domesticity and the morning rush and chaos common in any normal household. Father Michal (Milan Ondrík) coming back from the morning run, playing with his little girl Dominika aka Domi and her chickens, taking her to the daycare on the way to work in her new car seat, “the prettiest throne for the prettiest princess”.
But something feels off and you can’t quite put a finger on it. Is it the sudden appearance of the rash on his face that Michal wants his wife Zuzka (Dominika Morávková) to check about with the dermatologist? Is it the talk of the accident on the car radio? Or the unprecedented heatwave that has everyone in a flap?
The camera work is marked by a sense of propulsion as it follows Michal from behind at times and at others leads from the front. It builds up the busyness of his life—introducing the new manager to his colleagues, the talk of the organisation being on the brink of bankruptcy, Zuzka wanting him to check out a new cabinet for Domi and his ex-wife Eva requesting him to run an errand for her ailing dad. And, in the midst of this scramble comes the dreaded piece of news: Domi is missing from the play school.
Slovak filmmaker Tereza Nvotová explores the lead up to and the aftermath of a boundless tragedy in the lives of a couple, the father in particular. The Slovakia-Czech Republic-Poland co-production premiered recently in the Orizzonti section of the Venice International Film Festival.
Nvotová sustains the tension, keeping the viewers on the edge all through 102 minute run time. She also gives enough clues that, in hindsight, could have helped us anticipate the unfortunate turn of events—the misplaced toy hedgehog, the missing tie and mobile are all signs of an imminent loss.
Nvotová shows how the most seemingly perfect day could suddenly swerve around for the worst. How in just a minute or even a few seconds, lives can get shattered. More so it’s about the immense weight of parental guilt that accompanies loss, grief and pain, about the lifelong remorse for a moment of unwitting negligence. Can you ever get over the regret of having abandoned someone so entirely dependent on you? Or will you be able to rationalise it somehow?
It's about the box that the world—and the ever intrusive media—subsequently fits you in. Will it ever stop judging you? More than that, can you ever forgive yourself for the tragic mistake? Will you, as a couple, ever be able to get a grip on things? Will you be able to embrace life again?
Milan Ondrík as Michal internalises all these searing emotions and reflects them on his face, his body, his soul, his very being. It’s an intense interpretation of a harrowing reality and leaves one with goosebumps. The performance is a journey into an anguished mind; one that is poignant and provoking, affecting and distressing.
Adam Suzin’s camera is his perfect ally in taking us into his troubled world. Trained intently on Ondrík, it makes the viewers travel along with him, pulling them right inside the film. It makes for an immersive experience, not just staying invested in the fate of Michal but also feeling a sense of participation in the turn of events.
Father ends on the most singularly heartbreaking note at the movies so far this year. One that stresses the depressing fact that this world is too cruel, unforgiving and unempathetic to be traumatised in.
