i've got my father's genes, but that can't help me understand him

aftersun, children and their parents, and childhood vacations

“I think it's nice that we share the same sky.”

Aftersun made me think of my father. Everything Everywhere All At Once made me think of my mother. I’m sick over it. I can’t look at film without thinking of my parents. I’m trying to write less about my father, but I’ve just seen Aftersun, and as I try to understand the complexities of the story and the emotions it fills me with, I think of my father. (I wrote about him here if you’re interested.) My siblings gained lots from my mother’s Baltic genetic qualities, but most of mine come from my father’s Portugese heritage. Our faces twist and turn in similar ways, and our freckles look like the same sky, and our hair has the same darkness. There is no denying the horrifiying ideal that I am my father’s daughter.

In Charlotte Wells’ Aftersun, Callum (played brilliantly by Paul Mescal) and his daughter Sophie (Frankie Corio - absolutely incredible in the role) are vacationing in Turkey at a resort. They go from poolside to barside to the arcade to karaoke nights. My own family has gone on vacations like this, beached out on the lounge chairs with sunburnt skin so we all look exactly the same. Not quite all enclusive, but it feels like an entire universe, and there are so many things to do.

The only trip I’ve ever been on with just my dad was to Toronto for TIFF, which I’m sure none of you want to hear about, so I won’t say much. I do remember feeling like he was my best friend; I told him everything I felt and spoke with complete honesty. I clung to him, and as we walked through his hometown, my father was the only thing I knew. There was one night after a double feature of Triangle of Sadness and Broker that we went out looking for a hamburger to take back, and watch some more of Dark. We were consumed by the films, moving in sync, every laughter just right. I was exhausted after every long night, but even then, I couldn’t stop smiling. And I never wanted to go to bed because I wanted to spend all my time with him. I’d never felt known like that. And maybe, this is because when I look at my father, I see myself. In his face, in his eyes, in the skin on his face. And in everything, I see him.

I know my father, but still, he is a stranger to me. All the life he has lived before he knew me. This is what Aftersun is. Sophia grappels with the truth that she doesn’t truly know who her father is. He speaks perfectly, holding back all the right things, but giving just enough that she loves him entirely. This is the mystery of parents. I will never truly know them, and this is part of the tragedy. But, at the same time, they will never know me. Not as I know myself. My parents have always made an effort to try, but I’ve never been able to meet them on their behalf, and withheld with a sour look on my face.

Under the bright sun of Turkey, Callum falls apart, and Sophie, although not oblivious, doesn’t know how to help. So, they struggle. Callum is close to hitting rock bottom, smoking a used cigarette off the ground, while Sophie flies high on the excitement of vacation and new friends. Despite being father and daughter, they are incredibly different. Blood cannot be the only binding tie.

There is a different kind of sadness I feel only on vacations. I don’t even know how to put it into words, but I know that it’s always there, and it will be there when I go on vacation next. This kind of ticking clock feeling that I’m running out of time, and all the good will collapse, and we will have to move on to pick up the pieces of the mess we’ve all made, because at our cores we don’t understand each other at all. We can’t even agree on a restaurant to go to.

My parents will sometimes joke they need a “vacation from this vacation.” Because it’s all too much. And then sometimes, we - or I - want to stay forever, because in this vacation, we can exist in this pocket of happiness. The car is a rental and the beds are hotel, so we will never really get attached to anything, and can’t get to sad when it’s all gone. On vacation, we can ignore everything that troubles us, because here, in Hawaii or Florida or on Vancouver Island or by Charlottetown, PEI, nothing else matters but the people in the car, the song on the radio, and the map in our hands.

And, at the same time, vacation forces us to truly get under the other’s skin. For years, my brother and sister and I have been sharing hotel beds, hotel rooms, suitcases, sandals, and with this, we are deeply connected. Callum and Sophie, by mistake of the resort, end up in a room with only one bed, and Callum sleeps on the fold out cot while Sophie gets the bed. Existing in such a close space, while they normally do not.

All in all, I think Aftersun is about love, and about being together, while not knowing each other completely. Sophie loves her father, but there is so much about him she doesn’t know and understand, and we don’t even know if she ever sees him again after that trip. Maybe he exists only on the videos from the camera. Maybe he is only a memory. It feels sometimes like I’ve known my father forever. We share the same face, he is my mirror. And still, I’ll never fully know him. I can only know what he gives me to know. A feast or a measly snack. But I’ll latch onto anything. I want nothing more than to understand. And be understood.

The grief of going on vacation with your family. The grief of knowing your father, and being known by him.

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Dedicated to

my own private picturehouse

writer Thom