The Closer We Get

There's something immediately and too evidently uncomfortable about The Closer We Get, from documentarian Karen Guthrie.

A study of the aftermath of her mother's stroke, and a dissection of her father's behaviour up to and after it happens, this documentary presents itself as an unassuming portrait of family life and the fragile ties that bind her own.

Reviews therefore could be construed as an attempt to judge a family's experience, coldly approving or disapproving of what we observe, only because they have decided to make it public.

Nevertheless the mother and daughter's attempts, via plainly-shown searing conversations which attempt to navigate through obvious heartache, are powerful viewing. It's only when the arch narration gets in the way that the film loses its resonance. Moments of showing, not telling, speak volumes.

It's almost a coming of middle and elderly age story, as Karen and her siblings begin to discover the reasons behind their father's conspicuous absence in Africa for a decade during their childhood. Karen's dad Ian does not come over as man of the year, though his warmth with strangers is accentuated without an obvious reach for balance.

Karen unearths the painful dynamics between the siblings and their parents, as well as between the parents themselves. Her mother Ann, the outright heroine (for good reason), is an archetypal strong Scot; warm, kind and defiant in equal parts. She selflessly retains the stitches of the family's fabric together, despite the psychological and emotional upheaval she experienced for a prolonged time.

The film in fact shines a light on a family trait (one that could so easily apply to families across Britain) of barely communicating real emotions or reactions to bizarre circumstances, and simply getting on with it.

Put simply, The Closer We Get never draws too much attention to itself, and it's a more powerful film for it.