Orphan
Thereâs nothing quite like being a preteen, stuck between childhood and coming of age, hung in emotional turbulence. Itâs a universal feeling, a tender bruise many of us still carry â and LĂĄszlĂł Nemes knows exactly where to press.
His third film follows Andor (BojtorjĂĄn BarĂĄbas), a frustrated, isolated boy navigating the aftermath of the 1956 Hungarian uprising. Like Son of Saul, Nemesâ Oscar-winning debut, Orphan traces a hazy memory of a father-son bond. Andor idolises his missing father and longs for his uncertain return. Itâs a heartbreaking watch, although where the final scenes should be rife with emotion, they fall a bit flat. This film bites off a bit more emotional weight than it can chew.Â
The film opens through Andorâs eyes. Heâs taken from the orphanage as a young child in a disorienting blur, reunited with his mother, whoâs essentially a stranger. Andorâs shallow breaths bleed into the sound, and Nemes puts us in the shoes of this small, bewildered human being, seeing the world as he does.
Nemes paints a film of ugly truths bathed in stunning cinematography
What follows is a testament to unbelonging. Andor isnât necessarily an orphan â his mother is very much alive â but heâs kept at armâs length, effectively orphaned, and set to find his footing alone. Scenes flit by in quick succession: a door closed, a back turned, and a mother fiercely guarding her past. Andor is constantly running to some other place, from his school to the grocery store where his mother wo