Olivia Colman Source


IonCinema: Colman expertly conveys the complex intersections of Leda’s actions, which out of context might seem insane. Condensed into a handful of interactions (including a reveal Gyllenhaal takes longer to confirm than in the novel), her strength and insecurities make for an exhausting experience thanks to the unyielding anxiety regarding the doll.

AwardsWatch:  Even if such a directorial decision sets Gyllenhaal up for a rather chaotic and illegible narrative structure, Colman and Buckley’s proficiency at playing expansive female characters in a rut prolonged the film’s emotive after-effects.

The Wrap: For her part, Colman is absolutely fantastic: Even when Leda is sitting still, Colman’s body language, posture and facial expressions deliver worlds of emotions. The way her eyes observe Nina — empathetic, questioning, mixed with a bit of longing — is magnificent. There are no empty moments in the film; even some look or movement on the screen that might at first seem like a throwaway moment (particularly anything pertaining to the missing doll) gives way to a slow unravelling of the scene that pulls in the viewer.

The Guardian: When Hurricane Colman blows in from the sea, be sure your roof’s in good shape and that all the windows are fastened.

ScreenDaily: Even by Colman’s high standards, this is a richly complex performance. Awards notice seems likely.

Telegraph:  Written and directed by the actress Maggie Gyllenhaal, it’s a worthy adaptation – murkily funny, shiveringly intimate drama of the deranging impossibility of the “good mother” figure, with a trio of outstanding performances from Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley and Dakota Johnson.

Variety: First a little girl goes missing, then her doll, in “The Lost Daughter,” a daring psychological drama in which what should have been an idyllic summer vacation on the Greek island of Spetses instead becomes a kind of overdue emotional workout for Olivia Colman’s character, Leda, who collapses on the beach, bleeding from her abdomen in the opening scene. How these two disappearances might build to such a dire fate is one of the film’s mysteries, though more compelling is why this woman reacts to the incidents as she does, shocked into confronting her own conduct as a wife and parent many years earlier.

IndieWire: The performance in question, it will surprise no one who’s been to the movies in the last five years to hear, is given by Olivia Colman, on whom so many superlatives have already been rightly showered that it’s genuinely hard to think of one that doesn’t sound like a cliché. But her Leda is something quite extraordinary even within her already extraordinary catalogue: it’s difficult to imagine that anyone else would be able to take this impossible role, in all its unlikeliness and unlikeability, in all its witchy unpredictability and completely staid normalcy and make it seem not only plausible but more real for all its contradictions.

Deadline: Colman (The Favourite, The Crown, The Father) is given as rich an opportunity as she has ever had, and perhaps her most complex and, in a way, heartbreaking performance since 2011’s Tyrannosaur.

Deadline:  There can be no question that Olivia Colman is heading for yet another Oscar nomination for her tour de force turn in Maggie Gyllenhaal’s superb directorial debut, The Lost Daughter. You can take that to the bank.

The Playlist: And when she meditatively concludes the tragic tale with a few drops of blood and a generous spray of salty Mediterranean breeze, “The Lost Daughter” leaves you haunted, shaken, and crushingly scarred like only the best of films are capable of doing.

The Hollywood Reporter: The reclusive Italian author’s familiar themes of female relationships, sexuality, motherhood and women’s struggle to carve a professional space outside it are beautifully served in this uncompromising character study, illuminated by performances of jagged brilliance from Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley as her younger self.

The Times: Colman plays Leda, a middle-aged academic on holiday on a remote Greek island (shooting location: Spetses). She is by turns brittle, aloof, eccentric, vulnerable and ever so slightly unhinged. The genius of Colman’s performance is that she plays all these facets (sometimes in the same scene) while remaining inherently sympathetic in a movie that gamely tackles the taboo of the mother who rejects motherhood.

Little White Lies: The always-excellent Colman proves her versatility anew by acting in a mode not seen before in her back-catalogue. Under Gyllenhaal’s direction, the sweetness that radiates from her face, voice and energy are undercut by a calculated sense of animal selfishness that swings between impressive and excessive.

Dirty Movies: Colman is truly astounding. Olivia Colman can do things with an expression, can suggest such complexity of character, emotion and thought that now Daniel Day-Lewis has retired make her the greatest living British actor. Hell, even if he hasn’t retired, it would still be true. She can suggest depths of pain in a broken smile and utter joy in a laugh. But while we’re at it let’s not detract from Maggie Gyllenhaal’s debut.

Time: Colman gives a marvellous performance, as a woman well into middle age whose spiky edge hasn’t been, and probably never will be, completely smoothed: she’s a mix of nettles and swan’s down, and you never know what you’re going to get. By the movie’s end, you feel you’ve come to know a complex and wholly believable human being.

Financial Times: Colman deploying the full range of her mesmerising power and fragility. Casting Jessie Buckley as the young Leda proves to be a masterstroke, the actress excelling once again and uncannily capturing some of the Colman mannerisms. Both women would be well deserving of acting awards.

The Skinny: Gyllenhaal’s eye is extraordinarily perceptive, the camera almost indecently intimate in its attention to the unhappy puckers of Colman’s mouth, to the heady sensuality – hands pressed in underwear, creased bedsheets – of frustrated desire. Colman is unsurprisingly excellent, but Jessie Buckley as Leda’s younger self is mesmerising, punctuating the middle-aged Leda’s peace with ghostly keenness. Gyllenhaal’s fragmentary and unpredictable use of flashback devastates, as longing and regret collapse temporalities and undercurrents of decay break surface in the hot air.

INews: An excellent, embodied turn from Olivia Colman is no huge surprise these days, but she is particularly magnetic here, in a part that leaves room for interpretation. She’s over 40, and utterly a sexual being; she grapples with ageing and regret but has a complete sense of self.

Insider: You don’t watch this film wanting to root for Leda but you don’t want her to suffer either. Instead, the film conjures what I believe to be the most powerful emotion cinema can evoke: empathy. You empathize with Leda’s desire to succeed, her reluctance to settle, and, in theory, her decision to abandon her family because these are all emotions we have felt at some point in our lives. It is only in Hollywood cinema that these complexities are regularly sidelined for easy conclusions.

Next Best Picture: Colman is, frankly, incredible. She brings Leda to staggering life while maintaining some of her trademark, real-life charm in a way that only further fleshes out the character. Colman can play someone wishing to brush off and look away from difficult emotions better than anyone. The command of her expressions and externalization of inner tribulations is masterful. She has such a huge smile that she constantly flashes while insisting, despite what other characters might say, that she’s fine. But her wildly expressive eyes betray what Leda is really feeling. She’s in nearly every scene, and she manages to find variety in all of them. It’s a truly incandescent, stunning performance. Johnson is also wonderful as the new parent to whom Leda finds herself strangely drawn. She truthfully portrays a frustrated young mother who’s having trouble seeing past her current parenting difficulties.

New York Times: Gyllenhaal’s frighteningly accomplished first film actually gives us two intricate performances of the same character, and though the actresses do not physically resemble each other, there is something deeply persuasive in the dovetailing continuity of gesture and body language that Colman and Buckley achieve. And you do not have to be a mother — or even a woman — to relate to Leda’s contradictions, and to find unsettling recognition in a sly tale of painful — from some angles monstrously selfish — decisions that induce everlasting guilt but that can never be wholly regretted.

The Film Stage: But there’s one sequence late in the film worth highlighting that encapsulates the film’s concerns in a strange digression from the main story. In a moment uncannily perceptive about what’s it’s like to be in a foreign country, looking for something new to do on one of your evenings there, Leda sits in a beer garden showing a 50s Hollywood melodrama, palely projected onto a sheet. She sits with her lager glass as a mob of teenage boys gatecrash the screening, plonk themselves down in the front row, and proceed to jeer at the screen, and upturn the ad-hoc deck chair seating. Colman goes to complain to an usher and gets stonewalled, to which she can only laugh. This sequence is in the book also, but Gyllenhaal is able to better express how it uncovers Leda’s fear, and maybe jealousy, of younger people, her relationship to them in light of her own wants, biases, and desires.

HeyUGuys: The Lost Daughter, a character and vibes-centric drama grounded by the wonderful performances of Colman…

One Room with A Review: Olivia Colman is so gripping in the lead role of Leda Caruso it’s hard to take your eyes off her. Most of her ‘action’ involves wandering around a Greek beach or seething in her apartment, but she makes every moment compelling.

Decider:  The way Colman exquisitely coils her character’s repressed longing, beguilingly visualized by the fluid camerawork of Hélène Louvart and intricately woven by the latticework editing of Affonso Gonçalves, leads to anticipation as to where it will finally unleash… The Lost Daughter never tries to fit Leda into a reductive “bad mother” or anti-hero framework. A person can do strange, even reprehensible, things and not have those define their character. Leda finds parenting a choking collar to wear, and Gyllenhaal assiduously refuses to soften the edges of that pain and frustration.

Adapted from Elena Ferrante’s novel, this auspicious first feature marks a major moment for the Oscar nominee: “I have never felt more alive.”

Vanity Fair– Maggie Gyllenhaal really wanted to play a filmmaker. Deep into working on The Deuce, HBO’s drama series set in ’70s New York, the producer-star paved a new path forward for her character, Eileen, a sex worker introduced to the world of pornography. Instead of the business-minded mogul that had been originally envisioned, Gyllenhaal lobbied for her to emerge as a director. She proved persuasive. During filming on the show’s third and final season, which aired in 2019, Gyllenhaal acted in scenes that asserted Eileen’s artistic ambitions—and all the while, whenever the cameras stopped rolling, was conceiving the script for what would become her own directorial debut. One led to the other, Gyllenhaal tells me over Zoom: “Often, I explore things in my work before I’m brave enough to explore them in my life.” Anyone who’s followed Gyllenhaal’s career can understand the connection. This is an actor known for complex roles taken on with uncommonly bold intuition, from early breakouts in Secretary and Sherrybaby to recent highlights like The Honourable Woman and The Kindergarten Teacher. She tells stories by going far off the page, in intricate expressions and subtle gestures. “She is one of the artists in the world I most admire,” says Emma Thompson, a friend of Gyllenhaal’s. “She is serious about her work but more serious about being properly human, which is a great deal harder to get to grips with.”


Gyllenhaal has long had the qualities, in other words, of a great filmmaker. “I grew up in a time where there were some really interesting women making movies, but there weren’t very many,” she says. “I just, without thinking about it, was like, Oh, I’m an actress. I didn’t give myself the opportunity to think about director.” As the climate in Hollywood (slowly) shifted and Gyllenhaal started realizing her off-camera potential—2018’s The Kindergarten Teacher marked her film-producing debut—this desire to make a movie, “brewing in me for a long time,” suddenly appeared crystal clear. And she knew where she wanted to begin.


After a production meeting for The Kindergarten Teacher, Gyllenhaal took her fellow producers to a bookstore and bought them Elena Ferrante’s The Days of Abandonment. She’d just read the novel and felt eager to adapt it. They reached out to Ferrante’s team, only to learn the rights were stuck in development and were instead turned onto another, less-known Ferrante title: the slim, brutal The Lost Daughter. Reading the book, Gyllenhaal says, she felt that “some secret piece of my experience as a mother, as a lover, as a woman in the world was being spoken out loud for the first time.”


Gyllenhaal wrote to Ferrante that she wanted to script and direct a Lost Daughter film. It took her maybe a month to do so. Why so long? Her feeling amounted to “don’t fuck this up.” Gyllenhaal knew she didn’t want to set the book in Italy, as Ferrante did; she didn’t know how faithful she’d stay to the text otherwise. “What I had to say was, ‘I don’t know exactly how I will adapt this, but I know there are things inside it that are fundamentally interesting to me,’” she explains. Ferrante replied with her seal of approval—and a condition: Gyllenhaal had to direct the movie, “no question.” (The pseudonymous Ferrante explained why in a 2018 Guardian essay.)


“That scared me a little bit,” Gyllenhaal admits. There was no backing out now.


Recently acquired by Netflix for a December release, The Lost Daughter tells the kind of story that has characterized much of Gyllenhaal’s filmography: psychologically thorny, deeply internal, erotic, and human. It follows Leda, a literature professor and mother of two grown daughters, on an extended summer vacation. She encounters a rambunctious family, and particularly a young mother who reminds Leda of her own fraught experiences in parenthood. A sense of menace creeps in as the narrative jumps between the present day and Leda’s memories, unfurling a rigorous exploration of identity, lust, and regret.


“The scripts that appeal to me are the ones that allow space for expression,” Gyllenhaal says. “The process of taking a text as an actor, analyzing it, distilling it to, ‘Why is this scene in this movie? Why do I think it’s important?’…is, in an emotional and intellectual way, very similar to the way I worked on adapting the book.” She initially constructed it bit by bit. She’d think about a given section for weeks without putting pen to paper; once she got some extended time alone—a plane ride, say—she’d write for hours and hours straight through.


With Ferrante’s endorsement, The Lost Daughter was a go, complete with an exciting cast led by Olivia Colman as Leda, Jessie Buckley as younger Leda, and Dakota Johnson as Nina, the object of Leda’s fascination. “A big bonus for me was that Maggie was directing…but I loved the part because she’s not entirely likeable, which I’ve always found appealing,” Colman says. “All the stars aligned.”


Production was planned in New Jersey for an early 2020 launch. “New Jersey had a great tax incentive, but it never felt quite right,” Gyllenhaal says. “It was meant to be like Maine.” In any case, the pandemic hit. The U.S. Northeast seemed increasingly off the table for a COVID-safe bubble shoot, and Gyllenhaal thought of an exotic replacement location in Greece, with Leda rewritten as a tourist from abroad. “As soon as we even considered shifting to Greece—which was really just a fantasy whim I had—it took off,” Gyllenhaal says.


Financing came together fast; the logistics of transporting everyone there proved doable. Gyllenhaal even got a kind of trial run, with the chance to make a short film for Netflix’s quarantine-themed Homemade collection, months before filming started on The Lost Daughter. (It starred her husband, Peter Sarsgaard, who also features in The Lost Daughter.)

“There was a moment where I went, ‘Hold on a second, is this insane?’” Gyllenhaal recalls. “‘Can I really lead this group of people into Greece?’” She felt like Werner Herzog pulling a boat over a waterfall. “I spoke to a few epidemiologists; a part of me was almost wishing that they’d say, ‘No, no, definitely no,’” Gyllenhaal says. “But they didn’t.”

This flicker of self-doubt all but vanished once Gyllenhaal arrived in Greece: “I have never felt more alive and in the current of my life than I felt as a director.”


Gyllenhaal’s tendency to feel out a scene spontaneously went unchanged in the transition to director. “I couldn’t believe it—how I would just articulate what it was that I wanted and I saw and I felt,” she says. Having collaborated with dozens of noted filmmakers, Gyllenhaal had an epiphany while making The Lost Daughter: “When I’d felt loved on set, the work I did was exponentially more daring, more interesting, more revealing to myself about myself. And when I didn’t feel loved, I learned ways of working anyway—that’s part of our job—but it was much harder.”


The Lost Daughter taught Gyllenhaal “about being loving.” She remembers her first day of shooting on the Spetses beach in Greece—a crucial location in the film—and a specific moment in the middle of the frenzy. A million things were going on when the crew approached her to present Dagmara Domińczyk (who steals scenes as a mercurial woman around Leda’s age) in her bathing suit costume. The ritual was familiar to Gyllenhaal. (“I have been brought out in all sorts of outfits to show off my costume to the director.”) She prepared to address Domińczyk in front of the whole set. Then she paused and took the actor aside.


“In the five seconds it took me to walk over to the corner to speak with her privately,” Gyllenhaal says, “I realized the only thing to say to any actress in their bathing suit right before they shoot is, ‘You look fucking great. Now let’s work.’”


The mother of two herself, Gyllenhaal vividly captures the provocations of Ferrante’s novel, her vision attuned to Leda’s internal journey of reckoning with the stark choices made in her past. Chunks of narration are replaced with careful, unsettling close-ups; music enhances the story’s hypnotic spell, from composer Dickon Hinchliffe’s immersive opening theme to Colman’s unforgettable third-act performance of “Livin’ on a Prayer.” It’s what an adaptation should feel like: respectful of the source material, but wholly original.


Gyllenhaal showed an early cut to Emma Thompson. “I was so blown away by the film,” Thompson says now. “The slow winding of suspense and the brave plunging into the horrors of motherhood—about which no one speaks, for fear of being blamed and stigmatized forever. Trust Maggie to take it on.”


Ferrante and Gyllenhaal also exchanged letters a handful of times, over the course of production. One note from Ferrante that the director held sacred: Leda could not be depicted as “mad” or “crazy,” but at least somewhat universal. “If she’s crazy, then she lets every other person off the hook who has any kind of ambivalent feelings about their own mother, about being a mother, about being a daughter or a child,” Gyllenhaal says. “If she’s crazy, then why make this movie?” (Another Ferrante suggestion she took, albeit more reluctantly: “Take a sex scene out.”)


She committed to the ambivalent, at times vague nature of the character, imbuing her arc with a cinematic logic that borders on dreamlike. And in perhaps her richest big-screen role to date, Oscar-winner Colman felt in sync with her director: “[Leda] could be easy to write off…. She’s definitely made some mistakes, but that’s what’s intriguing! She’s clearly not mad.”

This is the first film in over 15 years to adapt Ferrante, a best-selling author whose fiction has been beloved by readers around the world for decades. (In the interim, there’s been HBO’s acclaimed Italian My Brilliant Friend series, soon returning for a third season.) It’s also the first-ever English-language adaptation of her books. Gyllenhaal sees it as no coincidence that her film is profoundly, even radically alert to the experiences of womanhood. “There are many interesting women who don’t agree with me on this, but I do think that there is such a  thing as women’s filmmaking—and I’m compelled by what that means,” she says. “And I don’t think we’ve had an opportunity to really explore what that means.”


She turns to one of her greatest film inspirations, Jane Campion’s 1993 masterpiece The Piano, as the first example of when she encountered it. She saw the movie as a teenager. “I had never seen anything expressed in that way,” Gyllenhaal says. “When we’re honest with ourselves and working from our unconscious, I think the work looks like that.”


As it happens, in its bracing honesty and emotional charge, The Lost Daughter looks a lot like that too.

Florian Zeller’s “The Father” is getting the big-screen treatment! Academy Award winners Olivia Colman and Anthony Hopkins lead the adaptation, which is now out in select theatres and will be available to stream on-demand on March 26th.


Here are some reviews…


Deadline: “Zeller has employed mind-bending technique and some visual trickery to put us directly into the mind of Anthony (Anthony Hopkins), the ageing father of Anne (Olivia Colman), as he slips ever so slowly deeper into dementia. Unlike most recent dramas on this subject – movies like Still Alice, which won an Oscar for Julianne Moore, and Away From Her with an Oscar-nominated turn from Julie Christie – this film does not go down the more predictable path in showing the devastating effects of seeing this overtake a loved one. Instead, we witness it as Anthony witnesses it, an ever-changing environment that may – or may not – be real, but is apparently reality to this man.”

The Wrap: “As Anthony Hopkins masterfully portrays a man slipping further and further into dementia, the film captures the terrifying sensation of not remembering and not understanding the people and places around us, and the helplessness of having to have your reality explained to you. It is an unsettling film, but it’s also a compassionate one; family members of those suffering from dementia can turn to it for an empathetic portrait of how that disorientation must feel on the inside. It’s one of the most disturbing films in recent memory, but it’s both understanding and unforgettable.”

Associated Press: “Terrifically acted and finely crafted though it is, it’s brilliant”

The Wall Street Journal: “What might have been predictable or sentimental in other hands becomes startling in the film’s approach, as well as beguiling, unsparing, terribly moving and occasionally very funny. Anne, portrayed poignantly by Ms Colman, has her own delusional notions, mainly the possibility that her father will rally and get better.”

USA Today: “Hopkins is astounding when navigating all these various states of mind – from righteous anger to withering spitefulness to a child-like vulnerability – that play out as Anthony loses control of his life. Even though the part isn’t conventionally showy, Hopkins gets to touch every bit of the emotional spectrum and the result is as indelible a role as when Hopkins donned Hannibal’s mask and won an Oscar for ‘The Silence of the Lambs.'”Colman, a couple of years removed from taking best actress for “The Favourite,” is also understatedly superb as a woman dealing with all of this.

Entertainment Weekly: “Though nearly of all this takes place inside apartment walls, Zeller somehow staves off claustrophobia; there’s a warm, painterly quality to the light that pours in, and a graceful pacing to the script (translated and adapted by Atonement screenwriter Christopher Hampton) that allows its growing resonance to creep in, quietly.”

Los Angeles Times: “‘The Father,’ in other words, is both a detective story and a study in confinement, a mystery set within the labyrinthine recesses of a deteriorating mind. The original play (whose English translator, Christopher Hampton, is credited alongside Zeller for the screenplay) availed itself of the natural abstractions of theatrical space, turning the stage into a psychological hall of mirrors. But Zeller, making an elegant and incisive feature debut, finds an ideal equivalent within the more realistic parameters of the movie screen.“The Father” may be a remarkable feat of sustained identification, but beyond the margins of Anthony’s experience — and primarily in the figure of Anne, whom Colman brings to aching, tremulous life — we catch glimpses of other characters and other stories: a terrible accident, a broken marriage, a second chance at love.”

Rolling Stone: “The Father is as much about living with dementia as the afflicted as it is about caring for such a person and, in the process, seeing the slow whittling-away of their senses over time. It’s about what it feels like to see – from outside, from within – an inexplicable rip in the fabric of one man’s reality. Within this complex framework is a whirlwind of feelings anchored by Colman, whose pain is loud despite a performance predicated on quiet, and Hopkins, whose ageing, sharp-witted Anthony proves only too human. ”

The New York Times: “Combining mystery and psychodrama, ‘The Father’ is a majestic depiction of things falling away: People, surroundings and time itself are becoming ever more slippery. As if to enforce order on days that keep eluding him, Anthony clings obsessively to his watch. And there is love in “The Father” — most of it radiating from Colman’s wonderfully warm presence — but there’s no sugarcoating: Compassionate yet unsparing, the movie is more likely to give you nightmares than warm fuzzies.”

Vulture: “As Anne, Colman offers up shattered smiles and extends endless patience while entertaining a dark fantasy of smothering Anthony in his sleep. As Anthony, Hopkins leans into the character’s capacity for cruelty as well as his vulnerability, working himself into a crescendo of outrage or cutting Anne to the quick with accusations of theft or by insisting that her sister — whose absence he laments with the blitheness of someone who has forgotten what happened — was always his favourite. Hopkins, who shows no signs of slowing down at 83, has always been capable of exuding authority and distinction, but as Anthony, he deftly toggles between bluster and vulnerability. Anthony may not have been an especially warm figure in his prime, but Hopkins makes it painfully clear that dementia is stripping him of any dignity. Masterful and agonizing, The Father is a gorgeously crafted film about a doomed arrangement entered into with love, even though it can only end in tragedy.”

TIME  – “Colman follows along in this dance, responding to a man she loves but no longer understands. Anne has a sister who has died, and Anthony hasn’t grasped that his other daughter is gone for good. He sometimes berates the one who remains, stating outright that the other was his favourite. Colman, such a wondrous actor, registers these shifts in the same way the texture and light of the moon seems to change with tiny variances in the atmosphere. She’s both pained and helpless, experiencing feelings that anyone who has spent time around an unpredictable fellow human, particularly an elderly one, can recognize.”

Decider– “Olivia Colman once again proves she is the best of the best. In her role as Anne, the daughter that Hopkins only sometimes recognizes, she conveys her character’s yearning, jealously, and despair in just a single glance—and she does it far better than others could with a 10-minute monologue. She is truly the master.” [1] [2]

Thrillist- “Anne is not the careless next of kin he sometimes envisions her as. Colman, who was nominated for an Oscar in the supporting category. Her work is gutting. She wears the pain of anyone who has had to deal with an elderly loved one on her face, the mix of hurt and resignation flashing in her eyes when he doesn’t recognize her or can’t remember where he is. ”

CINE-VUE – “Hopkins and Colman conjure between them a lifetime of love, regret and unspoken (or perhaps half-forgotten) grievances. Colman, in particular, evokes deep wells of pain in tiny glances and gestures, wincing every time Anthony blithely mentions her favoured but absent younger sister.”

Datebook- “In “The Father,” we see a man slipping out to sea, but we experience this viscerally so that sea seems to be slipping into us. His mind is breaking up like an iceberg, and what’s left are chunks of dreamworld and, occasionally, the face of the less-favoured daughter. As the daughter, Colman is a portrait of guilt, fear, doubt and exhaustion — combined with the residual eagerness of a child who wasn’t loved enough.”

Roger Ebert.com – “His daughter, Anne, Olivia Colman is consistently his equal. She, too, must ride this roller coaster and struggle to put on a British, stiff upper lip within a situation that’s steadily crumbling. She’ll manage a smile as tears well in her eyes or flinch ever so slightly yet maintain her patience when her father says something rude and insulting. As our guide—as much as Zeller will allow us one—Colman is tremendous as always.”

Variety– “All the actors in “The Father” are vivid, Colman brings her role a loving vulnerability that warms you…”

Film Threat– “Olivia Colman’s always been fabulous, but since the early days of Peep Show, Colman has matured into one of our best leading actresses, and her rise to stardom has been incredible to watch. So radiant as the Queen in Yorgos Nathimos’ The Favourite, here she wisely allows Hopkins to take centre stage, but more than holds her own in scenes so achingly real, I defy your tears to stay in those ducts.”

Guardian– “It’s Hopkins’ show but Colman gets some impactful moments along the way and the film is generous enough to understand that it’s an unbearably frustrating process for those around someone with the condition as well. As one might expect, The Father is a hopeless tale, with Zeller taking us down further as the condition worsens with the knowledge that things won’t be getting any better, that he won’t be getting out. It’s an experience many people will understandably want to avoid, existing just too close to home for a lot of us, easily swapping out Hopkins and inserting a family member in his place. But for those who can stomach it, it’ll stay with you, for longer than you might like.”

Screenrant– “While the audience is swept away into the maze of Anthony’s mind, the more grounded moments in The Father stem from Colman’s Anne, who is patient, loving, and fraying at the edges, caught between maintaining her strength and crying as she watches her father deteriorate. Colman, as always, is exceptional. While the film isn’t focused on her as much as Anthony, her emotions are equally on display.”

The Film Stage– “Similar praise goes to Colman too, what with her strong work in internalizing her emotions. The two performances show themselves as increasingly complementary as well, what with Hopkins’s confusion and Colman’s shifts between what may or may not be illusions of Anthony’s mind. It largely comes back to Zeller and Christopher Hampton’s script, which flirts with a medley of points of view without clarifying itself until the end.”

Rogers Movie Nation– “Colman gives us glimpses of the heartache and guilt a child feels over being unable to do more for a parent that has become more than a mere relative can handle…And Hopkins, Colman, Williams, Sewell and Poots give us an eyeful and earful of a fate awaiting far too many of us in this quietly gripping and intimate drama.”

The Playlist– “Colman can imply more with a slight tilt of the head or partial smile than 99% of her peers. Colman’s work here may be yet another example of how she has hit a career-best stride. The pain Hopkins and Colman carry in their characters can do wonders, however”

The Stranger “Colman and especially Hopkins are giving what may be the performances of their careers. Colman projects a lifetime of trauma, hope, and frustration all within her eyes, while Hopkins is simultaneously fragile, boisterous, and terrified as a man trapped in shifting realities.”

Original Cin– “For those who tremble in the presence of outstanding performances, The Father will hit like an earthquake. Hopkins and Colman are unspeakably good in their roles. Hopkins is too recognizable to forget who he is, and Colman has reached a level of unavoidable familiarity…The Father is one of the few genuinely deserving titles in this year’s Oscar run, earning its recent nominations for Best Picture, Adapted Screenplay, a Best Actor nod for Hopkins, and Best Supporting for Colman. ”

Looper- “Colman is no less impressive in her work. Scenes call for her to not only reinforce the love she has for her father, but also the frustration that punctuates her every conversation with him. She patiently states the same facts to him time and again, indulging his suspicions and assuaging his fears, all the while giving brief glimpses into her (possible? probable?) desire to break free and move to Paris with a new boyfriend, even capturing herself at one point fantasizing about finishing his life with her own hands.”

Boston Globe- “Colman gives Anne layers of sadness, frustration, and forbearance.”

FlixChatter Film Blog-  “I’ve always been a longtime fan of Olivia Colman who seems really kind and good-natured in person. This compassionate, empathetic character seems to be made for her as Anne’s patience with her ailing father seems limitless. Even when her dad is often crass and unfeeling towards her by constantly bringing up his favourite daughter Lucy. Anne’s mental anguish is palpable and that brutal honesty is so moving. It’s a deeply emotional and nuanced performance that feels true without resorting to over-sentimentality.”

Phoenix Film Festival- “Both Colman and Hopkins deliver Oscar-worthy performances. She’s a deeply caring, thoughtful daughter who doesn’t lash out at her dad, but she’s under constant duress by internalizing his disarray while simultaneously struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy.  Hopkins drives the narrative, and Colman follows his lead, as Anthony involuntarily reverse-calibrates his and Anne’s lives in micro-increments that deliver immediate grief, but also a profound sense of loss of a once-dependable and harmonious relationship.  A heartbreaking and permanent loss.”

The Movie Cricket- “Hopkins is electric here, playing off the always-brilliant Colman and his other solid castmates to create a tragic and indelible portrait of a man desperately clinging to some shred of his identity.”

Spiritually Practice- “Anthony Hopkins and Olivia Colman each give Academy-Award calibre performances but what really makes The Father shine is its admirable blend of sunshine and shadows.”

Culture Mix- “Viewers are taken on a harrowing ride that feels like an endless loop of uncertainty and confusion, anchored by outstanding performances from Anthony Hopkins and Olivia Colman… Colman convincingly expresses the heartbreak of who someone who feels helpless to stop a loved one’s inevitable decline.”

What’s Up Newp- “What’s most remarkable about The Father is how compellingly it manages to convey Anne’s experience without compromising its conceit. The film’s chronology, which seemingly belongs to Anthony, is just as resonant for Colman’s character; in each interaction, she cannot know whether her father will be warm, cruel, or unable to recognize her, and without shared memory to carry those moments forward, does when they happen even matter anymore? This dual-functionality speaks to the quality of the screenplay, as well as Zeller’s direction – in a year with a few high-profile theatrical adaptations, The Father is arguably the most cinematic-feeling of them all.”

The Harvard Crimson– Actors do the switch in and out for certain characters, but for the most part, Olivia Colman remains in the film as Anne. Colman is tasked with portraying the myriad of conflicting emotions felt by someone whose loved one suffers from dementia. She is resistant to the idea of putting him in a nursing home, even though caring for him herself is an enormous undertaking. Especially in her character’s private moments, Colman lets the immense grief she feels rise to the surface, quiet tears and trembling hands reflecting her interiority. Most of all though, Colman’s portrayal of Anne is a touching testament to unconditional love — even when Anthony lashes out at her, her unbowing loyalty to him is palpable. Subtle gestures, like the way she smiles when he compliments her hair, or the way she reaches out to hold his hand after a doctor’s appointment, are enough to reveal how much she cares for her father.

Financial Review– “The versatile Colman puts in an excellent performance as the daughter caught between love for her father, a sense of filial duty, and sheer exasperation”

This Is Film- “Colman similarly follows suit, shading her performance with light and darkness that expresses how much she loves a man that she no longer understands. Williams, Sewell, Gatiss, and the so-far unmentioned Imogen Poots, whose turn as Anthony’s new in-home carer leads to some of the film’s most agonising material, are all equally stellar, but The Father‘s heart is between Hopkins and Colman, with the two navigating this traumatic exquisiteness to fruition, resulting in a film that’s practically a relief on the senses once it has culminated.”


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