will’s review published on Letterboxd:
you would hide behind the rocking chair before he came home, and, you'd get real stiff...
i hope you have children.
these two extra-diegetic lines occur one after another, without continuity, like lingering impressions made in rick's mind. they are spoken by his mother, who we see there on the beach, the frontier that is used in the film to show an edge. a boundary that is unapproachable. we can only stare out at the horizon in awe, and feel that great knowing deep within us, something fundamental, something innate but beyond our reach. in verticality too; we yearn for ascension. to be lifted. those very words a pathway, like many others, to phenomena universal. we all may be lifted.
and yet, maybe we do not want to be lifted. maybe it's beyond us. i think those two lines up above capture that conflicting nature. they help emerge a world beyond what is spoken. a world where there is a family with an abusive father, the father who in this film is shown simultaneously decaying, as a result of alzheimer's, while existing almost extradiegetically as a guiding voice. a voice of a man who is repenting. trying to tell his son that, even though he may have stumbled down the road like a drunk, that doesn't mean it's the wrong one. rick knows this; throughout the film we see him around children, not only wishing that he had children, but the image before him creates the feeling within of fatherhood. to be a father.
i was afraid when i was young.
afraid of life.
who pays for it.
i'm sorry you had to pay as well.
It comes to me now.
How tenderly you touched my face...
when you were four years old.
And I'd bounce you on my knee.
So much I was given.
So much I left behind.