Director: Nicolaas Rahoens
Writer: Nicolaas Rahoens
Cast: Roland van Campenhout & Chris Claeys
Running time: 20mins
The evolving bond between parents and their children – transitioning from the givers to the recipients of care – has become increasingly fraught in recent years. It was never easy; but in the days before the social safety net, the number of children per family was significantly higher than after. The tragic hope behind this was in a time of high infant mortality, enough would survive to take care of you in your old age – because if they didn’t, you were on your own. In the decades after the transformative post-war social contracts seen across Europe and North America, this led to a fall in the average number of children per-family, because improved access to healthcare meant your first-born was more likely to survive – while the creation of the welfare state meant parents had at least some care options as they aged.
In the 21st century, however, we find ourselves at a crisis-strewn intersection. After more and more people have been born to single-child households, the social contract has been utterly torn up over the last two generations. There are fewer places to turn for late-life care, and the places that exist are corrupt, under-staffed factory-farms, where private-sector owners will supply cheap, borderline-negligent support to residents, and probably take their house as payment. With that ‘choice’ on the table, people are finding themselves utterly unable to extract themselves from their parents.
With their finger on the pulse of society, a number of filmmakers submitting to Indy Film Library have sent us work reviving the Steptoe & Son tradition – telling stories of children who have grown up under a nagging parental superego, who they know find themselves beholden to out of a mixture of guilt and responsibility. Whether they like the person or not doesn’t even enter into it – if they don’t care for their parents, there is a chance nobody else will. And within that sphere, amid the simmering resentment and the desperation to live their own lives – as their parents already did – they also find themselves regressing into to a childish deference; infantilised, sleeping in the same bedroom they decorated with posters in their teens, or meekly concealing projects that their mother or father might disapprove of, despite being their equal.
It is important to note that there is rather more nuance in these stories than Steptoe & Son, in that this is not just a matter of progress or modernity versus small-minded tradition. As Maarten de Bruijne pointed out when I spoke to him about his telling of this kind of tale, L’audition de Jeanne, one of the things he found most important in writing the film was that there were no “villains” of the piece – and that whatever the outcome, there would be “no winners”. Everyone is a product of circumstance, and a pervasive social alienation that is not their creation.
De vlieger wacht niet stands tall in this same tradition. It is a measured and well-executed examination of the stress point between empathy and frustration, in which a character struggles to carve out a future for themselves, while desperately trying not to do that at the expense of their past.
Chris Claeys plays Filip, a middle-aged man who has put his life on hold to care for his ageing father Herman (Roland van Campenhout) – and his sheep farm. Whoever was in charge of casting deserves extra credit for putting the two men together here – in looks and mannerisms, there could not be a more convincing pairing of ‘father and son’. But it is the actors themselves who deserve the lion’s share of the praise on that front, putting on exemplary performances.
As Herman battles with his failing memory – the light of recognition suddenly burning bright in his eyes, only to timidly fade again moments later – Van Campenhout does a phenomenal job of essentially playing two characters in the same body. Similarly, Claeys brings an impressive duality to his work as Filip, who is constantly swinging between moments of elation when his father seems like his old self – holding conversation, cracking the odd joke – and stark isolation, as the personality of ‘Pap’ retreats, and leaves a confused stranger behind.
These performances are perfect, when breathing life into director Nicolaas Rahoens’ script – which places the two characters at a crossroads in their relationship. Filip has reached a point where he can no longer maintain both lives – his old commitments to his father have stretched his other relationships to breaking point. He finds himself on the brink of a life-changing trip, in which he will join his partner and their son in Indonesia. The journey could transform their lives for the better. But it is becoming increasingly clear that Filip’s father cannot live alone. Every moment where his father seems to be coping, only to fall further from himself, seems to hurt Filip more – every wince or thousand-mile stare speaks to a man who knows whatever he does, he is about to lose someone.
The cinematography wonderfully underscores this desolate position at various points – but none more emphatically than the second-to-last scene, in which Filip calls home. The next day they will fly to Jakarta, but after the pleasantries about their excitement, the conversation between him and his partner completely frosts over. Having mentioned that his father’s condition was deteriorating, and perhaps expecting some small statement of empathy from his partner, Filip is met with a stony silence – as if to say, well, that’s how it is, what do you expect me to do about it? A resulting argument makes it clear that this trip is not negotiable, and Filip will need to make a big decision about his future. Here, Nico van Daele’s camera places Filip as drifting alone in a sea of darkness – and tellingly, even the light from his telephone, connecting him to his ‘future’ is so dim that it scarcely picks out his silhouette amid the pitch black around him.
Elsewhere there are slightly more conventional – arguably pedestrian – choices made when highlighting moments of emotional conflict, and these do feel a little bit out of place when considered against such grandeur. For instance, Rahoens takes his characters to a cemetery for a scene where Herman mourns his late wife, and Filip reluctantly puts an arm around his shoulder. Men, right, we don’t know how to handle this sort of thing… But in the next scene, Filip is bathing his father, a tender and humorous scene, which suggests a relationship that is well beyond the emotive barriers hinted at moments before.
At the same time, a moment in which the pair bicker about the fate of Herman’s flock of sheep – and one in particular that he has named – falls flat, because it is so under-explored. While the old man has famously only ever seen these animals as a source of food, one has been named ‘Bella’, and he insists this one should not end up in his freezer. Later, at the graveside, we see the name of Herman’s wife – Filip’s mother – was Isabella. But the argument never goes into much detail around what should be an extremely emotive name for both men, and so there is a chance many viewers will miss the point.
Even so, having built to an emotionally impactful finale, it is safe to say Rahoens and co have truly been a credit to themselves. As a hellish decision approaches, the pressures placed upon these characters are never confused with a reason to see any of them as the villain – and will give audiences plenty to think about, and relate to long after the screen fades to black.
De vlieger wacht niet (which translates as ‘the kite doesn’t wait’, though the director has given it the slightly less poetic English title of ‘My Father’s Bench’) is a tale of contrast, of changing relationships, and situations which cannot be sustained. It manages to find humour and sweetness in small pockets, which make for an ending that is all the more bitterly sad. It is another film which I will therefore be proud to exhibit at our annual showcase, in Amsterdam. Stay tuned.