What a brilliant and saddeningly sober little film about aging and memory. A tremendous winding script that keeps everyone off balance and heightening the dramatic loss. In another tweak, this would be like a Twilight Zone sci-fi tale, but the surreal morphing of perception and reliance on memory for reality was all too real. This intensity is brought to bare by the top class acting. Hopkins masterfully bounces from manic to depressive to confused, all while trying to portray control when none is to be found. It is a performance of multitudes; bravado and feebleness, wit and worry, a quiet fight for dignity and a loud fight for oneself. He is allowed the shaking rock of Colman to crash upon, a vision of heartbreaking toil trying to be masked by a kind but troubled visage. Almost unmatched lip quiver and tangible poignancy welling in her eyes as she tries to retain sanity and sanctity.
It really is a dazzling screenplay. I am unsure how the original play worked, but the frightening and unrelenting deluge of moments unshackled by time brilliantly paints a portrait for the audience. We get a smattering of the troubling perception of the aged, unmoored from the certainty of the last moment or the assuredness of the one to come. Trying to make sense of that which does not compute, but unable to express the grief of losing one’s foothold on truth or progressive epistemological assertions is anxiety inducing. In the abstract, it chills, but in the context of those loved & cherished, it becomes agony.
Touching, superbly acted, and fabulously formulated.