Director: Lucy Kerr
Writers: Karlis Bergs, Lucy Kerr
Stars: Rachel Alig, Deragh Campbell, Katie Folger
Synopsis: A sprawling family’s futile attempts at capturing a family photo take a dreamlike turn when the matriarch vanishes and one daughter becomes desperate to find her.
Have you ever wandered through one of your relative’s houses and seen their framed pictures? It is a reflection of that person’s memories and loved ones – still images that elicit some kind of emotional reaction to the person who keeps them. These are beautiful touches that make that person cherish those around them. However, for Roland Gérard Barthes, the French literary theorist, essayist, and semiotician (someone who studies signs and symbols and their use or interpretation), it takes a darker tone, both that serves as a reminder that time movies at different paces and the ending that awaits us all. He says family photographs are a desperate means to freeze time and immortalize the family. However, Bathes also states that the family taking the picture doesn’t realize that, as they smile and pose for the photo, they have already died.
This is all explained in further detail in his book ‘Camera Lucida: Reflection on Photography’ from 1980, in which he wrote about his mother’s portrait, soon after her death and not long before his own. But, writer Parvati Nair perfectly describes the essence of what Barthes meant with those scarring words in a beautiful piece I stumbled upon while learning more about the man. She interpreted them as “photos signaling death because they seek to rescue the photographic moment from the obliteration accompanying the passage of time and the inevitable alterations of place”. While Barthes comes with a darker perspective than our own, you understand his point of view. When you go back and look at old pictures, you first feel nostalgia. But then it is immediately followed by some dysthymic sensation, mostly occurring when looking at a photograph with someone who has already passed (or a person who is no longer in your life) in them.
For many of us, some photographs aren’t the same after the lockdown, which left a deep emotional scar because of the gloom gradually swallowing your entire room whole, as days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. And that’s where Lucy Kerr’s simple yet compelling picture, Family Portrait, takes its inspiration – between the words of Barthes and the experiences of the 2020 pandemic. It is one of the many films concocted from the draining moments and emotions caused by that time. But this one is quite different from the ones you have seen recently. Family Portrait sets itself in the dawn of such events before the world was enclosed in its entirety; this causes the events that transpire in Kerr’s film to have a wounding effect, as these characters don’t know what awaits them.
This silence and atmosphere-reliant film sneakily moves the viewer with its calm storytelling and dread-inducing underpinning. “Through a circle that ever returneth in to the self-same spot”. These words by Edgar Allan Poe, from his ‘Conqueror Worm’ poem, introduce the film and provide a glimpse of what’s about to occur, at least metaphorically. That poem implies that human life is “mad folly”, which ends in hideous death – the universe being controlled by dark forces we humans can’t understand. Or, if you want to bring in a darker note, humans are no more than puppets caught in an endless cycle of suffering and fear. This is reflected in the persona of the film’s protagonist, played by Deragh Campbell (Anne at 13,000 Feet, Possessor), who’s often seen in a state of worry and nervousness. While she speaks with a soothing and calm voice, her body and thoughts transmit a different message, one that’s being covered in dread by impending pandemic-induced collapse.
The first image you see is a family walking together through some kind of tree-covered backyard with beautiful green plains on a lovely morning, as a Lynchian sound – the wind brushing through the scenery and some static – covers its background. The family members are talking to one another, yet you can’t catch what they are talking about since their voices are muffled. During this initial scene, you notice a significant detail that paves the way for the sadness lingering in Family Portrait. Only one of them is regrouping the entire family, a woman with no name (Campbell). She looks like she’s been trying to get them together for quite a while now; the rest doesn’t even seem to care about what is happening. They have planned a group picture for the Christmas season. And immediately, you go back to Barthes’ words.
The party is reluctant to take the picture because they take that moment for granted, as the only person who seems to cherish this time being spent together wants to frame it. As the woman regroups the family together for the picture, Family Portrait reveals the missing voices of its characters and the setting – the chirping of the birds and crickets, the kids playing in the background, and the conversations, among others. The next couple of scenes dedicate themselves to being with specific family members, shifting the story into a dread-covered one for a few seconds. These scenes don’t contain much dialogue, relying on the soothing yet slowly gnawing atmosphere covering the household these people are staying in. We see a girl reading a poem, a lonesome wife, a stressed mother catching a break, and a little kid hiding behind a tree.
These quick scenes may not do much in terms of story development. But they serve as a simple touch that reflects these people’s feelings on the inside, as the next time we see them, they will be using a mask to hide their genuine emotions. Things start to kick off when the mother of these women disappears out of nowhere. And only one of the daughters seems to worry about her, growing anxious about her disappearance and when they will take the picture. The rest of the family appears to wander independently – resisting any attempt to gather. This is the moment where Lucy Kerr halts time and space for her characters as if they were in some haunted location where they can’t leave or in a state of limbo. A beautiful yet hectic summer day is descending into brightly-lit solemnity. This transition reflects on the introductory words of Poe and the background of Barthes, yet with a look and scenery that mirrors the opposite, so it can draw out the characters and trap them.
That is the film’s best asset. The details in the facial expressions combined with the atmosphere are a mixture that elicits a reaction from the viewer. It helps us think about our own family get-togethers and the losses we have had. However, its short runtime makes the experience feel less effective. Kerr doesn’t give us enough time to immerse ourselves into this transient paralysis fully. You are sent to this place, and everybody knows each other thoroughly, which is excellent because the actors deliver convincing performances, and their chemistry with one another is top-notch. It often makes you feel as if they were all part of the same family in real life. Yet that causes their respective character arcs, outside of the film’s lead, played by Campbell, to feel somewhat hollow. I believe that happens because of her dynamic within the confines of this time and space immobility, and with her relatives is much different.
Nevertheless, there’s plenty to admire in Lucy Kerr’s picture, precisely how it captures the depiction of family reunions from realistic angles – showing the intertwined delight and sorrow that lingers in them. Family Portrait is an easy-flowing journey into the unknown of these types of dynamics that, although it doesn’t immerse you in its totality due to some restrainment, manages to get the viewer thinking about their time spent with the people they cherish both before and after the pandemic (and how these bonds have changed through that draining period). It is both discrete and evocative in its storytelling procedure. But Kerr ensures she packs strong visuals and metaphors along the seventy-five-minute tale that enriches the story even with its reticence.
