“I am not able to comprehend the force of my own memory, though I could not even call my own name without it […] Great is the power of memory!” – Saint Augustine
“Every pain of unknown causes has no cure.” – Alkindus
When a person ages, his memory also ages with him; this is how the story of Anthony (Anthony Hopkins) unfolds, an 80-year-old man struggling with memory loss, or more precisely, fading memories such as the memory of his daughter Anne (Olivia Colman). So, who is Anthony as his memory and recollections erode with every passing day? Who is he when nothing remains but his fractured memory? Ultimately, when he stops remembering everyone and everything, what will be left for him?
I shall review the film reflectively rather than artistically, as philosophy has long been engaged with cinema. Consequently, I will begin by focusing on what we can philosophically learn from the film.
In his book Memory, History, Forgetting, Paul Ricoeur suggests that the theme of memory extends beyond the scope of medicine and the natural sciences. Filmmakers have succeeded by not dwelling extensively on the medical aspect. Even medical terms indicating illness are mentioned fleetingly. The film revolves around an elderly man with a fractured memory, and it explores how he recalls himself and his circumstances in a disturbed manner in his daily life.
First, let us acknowledge that each of us has, in our memory, a touch of spontaneous durability, balancing between recollection and forgetting. This is described by Ricoeur as the “small miracle” of memory, as it grants us the ability to start over, allowing the act of recall to be regular and spontaneous. Once the process passes, we can enthusiastically say “I remember!” This miracle, similar to everything that is human, is bound to fall into decay. This is Anthony’s situation. Hannah Arendt suggests in The Human Condition that humans exist not only to die but to “renew” themselves and this, in turn, requires a stable memory.
Anthony suspects that there is some sort of conspiracy to deport him to a “nursing home.” The torment experienced by him stems from the confusion that those who once shared happy memories with him are now using his illness against him. On the other hand, we hear Anne’s spouse tell him, “Sometimes I wonder if you’re doing it on purpose.” The current dilemma is how one can connect with someone who fails to remember them. Who will he forget each time? Despite Anthony’s struggles, he displays a form of gratitude to those around him, suddenly saying to his daughter, “Thanks for everything.” He thanks his daughter amidst the death of his memories, because gratitude marks the recognition of goodness, a recognition that cannot be suppressed even by the loss of memories. Anthony lives through “the sadness of endings” as aging weakens his memory. He contemplates the impending day, wondering, “What’s going to become of me?” He ponders over his approaching death, as old age shapes his sorrow, melancholy, as well as his happiness – but this is not the case with Anthony.
As the film progresses, the audience realizes that Anthony is inevitably going to fail in taking care of himself, illustrating that memory alone is what sustains humans in daily life. In paragraph 41 of Being and Time, we read that “Dasein [being human] in itself is essentially being-with,” meaning that we become human through daily self-care, caring for others, and dealing with life. From being-with, other patterns emerge, such as will and drive. Therefore, how does someone who loses their memory take care of themselves? If being-with gives meaning to our actions, what meaning does one have when they lose their memories? The answer lies in the folds of the book, as something without meaning to exist is inherently impossible. However, the possibility of age affecting one’s memory exists within every individual. Anthony, having fallen outside the scope of most philosophical analyses, shares a commonality with those labeled as “afflicted.” Memory loss sounds like it should be impossible, yet it is prevalent and severe, and it leads to producing nothing but “nonsense”, as Anthony puts it.
I would like to turn now to the final scene to focus on Anthony’s last words:
“I feel as if… I feel as if I’m losing all my leaves, one after another […] The branches! And the wind… I don’t understand what’s happening anymore. […] I know where my watch is. On my wrist. That I do know.” Here, the irony of memory loss reaches its peak. As his memory falters at the final stages, the promise that tomorrow will be better, and that it’s possible to move forward after yesterday, becomes impossible, since today has no existence, and yesterday and tomorrow are also unrecognizable. For Anthony, time is not linear, a temporal cycle, nor a source for new possibilities, but is a lost watch he forgot where and how he misplaced it. He is stuck within the grooves of his memory, unaware of time and space. His situation is similar to that of Saint Augustine, who begins his confessions about memory with admiration, “I enter the fields and spacious halls of memory,” only to end with “I became to myself a wasteland.” The Father is not merely a movie about lost memories, but also about the elderly, when they become infected with illnesses that make any new beginnings or happy endings simply impossible.
Conclusion: Between Anthony and Anthony Hopkins
In one of the scenes, Anthony mentions his date of birth (December 31st, 1937), which happens to be Anthony Hopkins’ birthday.
The film serves to honor his old age, a tribute to his generation. Through his performance, he authentically embodies (in the interpretive sense) the struggles of those suffering from memory loss. It is a performance to be remembered, as everyone, young and old, will have “once been in this world.” Once they’re gone, all that remains is their memory in the minds of their relatives, friends, or lovers – each held hostage by the memory of the other. This memory is paradoxical – as expressed by Ricoeur, when nearing his nineties, “[…] it is even said, unkindly, that the old have more memories than the young but less memory!”
To conclude, Aristotle argues in Nicomachean Ethics that a person needs a friend to compensate for their deficiencies, as the friend represents another self for the individual. The “otherness” inherent in each person is embodied in their individual memory, which encompasses their entire existence. Anthony (The Father) preexists in the memory of Anthony Hopkins, not as an imagination – but as a friend and another self, deserving of an excellent performance. This intertext between the imaginary and the real is a unique consequence of human memory.
References:
- Saint Augustine, Confessions. Translated by Albert C. Outler, MCMLV,
- Paul Ricoeur, Memory, History, Forgetting. 2004.
- Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition. 2014.
- Martin Heidegger, Being and Time. 2010.
- Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Martin Ostwald, Macmillan, 1962.
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