Some films are just for kids. And there are some films kids should watch with their parents. Then there are films parents should watch without kids (young ones at least) simply to be reminded of that… thing… that makes them a parent.
I don’t mean biology. There are a lot of parents out there who are not biologically related to their children. I mean the insanely deep connection most parents (not all, I recognize) live day in and day out with their children; that powerful protector who waits just under the surface, willing to step in front of the train to save a child; that trapped bear roar that comes when you turn around and the child who was sitting next to you is gone.
“Color Book” is that film. It’s a story about love, grief, fear of loss, and, well, that thing — one so movingly told that I hope parents seek it out. You don’t have to seek to0 far: it’s now screening at the Seattle International Film Festival (SIFF)
This film is an example of cinema so perfectly paced, beautifully shot, and outstandingly acted that it deserves to win top honors at the festival this year. The viewer will feel in their body the sadness, strength, and resilience of Lucky, a recently widowed dad determined to do something good for his disabled son as he navigates the unexpected and disorienting loss of his mother.
Synopsis
David Fortune’s debut feature film opens as Lucky (a brilliant William Catlett) and his 11-year-old son Mason (played with complexity by Jeremiah Daniels) move through the first days following the death of Tammy. His wife’s death has made Lucky a single father to a child with Down syndrome. The black and white film’s first quiet, shimmering shots are close in — each could be a silvertone masterpiece hanging in a museum — and give the viewer an intimate connection with father and son.
After a moving balloon-releasing funeral service, Lucky makes his first attempts at filling the mother-shaped hole in Mason’s life and routines (stringing beads, brushing teeth, saying grace before eating). He can’t replicate Tammy’s innate joyfulness amidst the weight of his own loss.
When Lucky decides to connect with Mason in his own way by taking him to his first professional baseball game, Mason is delighted. It’s a scene that could play out in any household as the two dance down the hallway: “We’re going to the game! We’re going to the game!”
If you are unsure at the film’s beginning whether the bond between father and son is as tight as between mother and son, this scene leaves no doubt. Mason loves his father, copying his every move with joy and laughter.
Of course, this is a movie. No promise in a film is made without the expectation of challenges. The rest of “Color Book” is largely set in the Atlanta train system (ATL) as the duo swings at the numerous curveballs thrown at them as they make their way to the stadium. No tension, no movie. A transit system and cityscape are characters in this film, lovingly depicted work of art, all lines and balance, texture and pattern.
Recall the balloons released at Tammy’s funeral. They are a metaphor for her presence in Mason’s life, and he’s not happy when his father says ‘no’ to bringing a balloon to the game. When a balloon seller comes aboard the ATL to hawk his wares, Mason asks again for one. A now-weary Lucky declines before closing his eyes to rest. Upon waking, he discovers Mason is no longer beside him. Viewers will viscerally feel the horror, the fear, that internal roar, that thing. Catlett fully captures the primal scream of parenting as he searches for his son.
I won’t give away the enormity or resolution here. Suffice it to say this is not a kid-snatch film. It’s a film about navigating a new and uncharted version of one’s parenting world. It also covers misunderstandings, community, quiet pride, heroism where power might have been wielded, determination, and, toward the end, the gift of kindness.
A ‘tribute’ to Black fathers
A recent Variety review of “Color Book” stated what I, as a white mother, have no direct experience with: “It is a tribute to the unheralded ways Black fathers show up and show out. Again and again, Lucky peers out from the veil of his sorrow to take in his young son.
Frustration thaws. Fondness rises. And when the language between them falls short but not their love, they resort to a playful muscle man routine, flexing their biceps, squeezing into a squat, teeth bared with faux exertion. It’s the not-so-secret language of a dad and his son. Again and again, Fortune captures the alone-together quality of this newly formed dyad.”
There is another element to parenting and grief. In real life, both things include ample moments of silence and space. The “Color Book” knows this and wraps its story in and around both. At the same time, the film is poignant and sometimes funny, happy and sad, and to its credit, full of the tiny, intimate moments between a parent and child, from joy to frustration to annoyance to celebration.
Or, to put that into black and white, it is full of parental heart and love.
If you go:
“Color Book” is available through SIFF Streaming through June 1. If you have a festival streaming pass you’ll need to enter your email and password to see it on the SIFF Channel. Non-passholder tickets are $20. First: Purchage a tickets on the SIFF webpage for the film. Second: plug the ticket voucher code you receive after purchase on the SIFF Channel to watch the film.
