Exhibiting Forgiveness review – André Holland powers moving father-son drama | Sundance 2024

Stories of estranged family members finding their way back to each other have long been a reliable Sundance staple, a stacked subgenre in itself and one that can grow a little wearying as a result. Artist-turned-film-maker Titus Kaphar’s debut Exhibiting Forgiveness, showing in the main dramatic competition here, may not exactly revolutionise the form but he finds an authentic and sensitive way through, distinguishing his film from the flurry of other superficially similar stories.

It’s art as therapy for Kaphar, grappling with a strained relationship with his own father, based on a recorded conversation they once had after 15 years of no contact. Working through one’s own strife as a form of autofiction can often lead to self-indulgence but Kaphar has crafted something that deserves to exist outside of his inner circle, an emotionally wrenching drama set to resonate with those who have also had to confront the complicated equation of radical forgiveness.

How much is too much to take and when does carrying so much resentment start to hurt you more? They’re questions that have been buried by painter Tarrell (André Holland), with a sleekly curated life far from his conflicted upbringing, the light of his devoted mother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) muddied by the dark of his abusive father La’Ron (theatre actor John Earl Jelks). But there’s something eating away at him, night terrors that won’t go away, and when he travels home with his wife (a radiant Andra Day) and young son to help his mother move house, the re-emergence of his father causes a difficult reckoning.

There are troubling questions that Kaphar refuses to provide pat answers for, how one comes to terms with the good things a bad parent might be partly responsible for and how you learn to silence the worst parts of them echoing in your head, if that’s ever truly possible. Flashbacks are admirably limited, mostly focused on one day where we see La’Ron cruelly instill a sense of extreme work ethic in a young Tarrell, a layer of steel he insists is vital in a world that will demand it. How much does Tarrell then credit the strength of his meteoric career to him? How much of that hardness can be justified by the upbringing his father received as a child? Kaphar allows difficult moments to linger as Tarrell voices his anxieties, worrying that he’ll never be able to find his way through this arduous emotional maze. There’s also an effectively angry throughline about the hypocrisy of religion, Tarrell fatigued at how it’s shamelessly used to imply goodness when behaviour suggests otherwise.

Holland wears all of this turbulence in his face, a rage forever simmering, rage that he knows has come directly from his father, a darker part of himself that he’s far quicker in crediting. He’s dynamite here, the kind of dream in-every-scene showcase he’s never really been allowed on screen before, and there are enough electrifying moments, battling with his mother over her maddening enduring love for his father and a final explosion of emotion, to push Holland into both next year’s Oscar race and into a newer, long-deserved category of more prestigious leading roles. As his parents, Ellis-Taylor and Jelks are both superb, intimate arguments with them acted with such rawness, it feels like we’re watching them on stage.

As a first-time director with a background in visual art, Kaphar makes for a refreshingly restrained film-maker, keeping visual gimmicky at bay and involving his real paintings only when the film requires. He understands the importance of using one’s art as a way to untangle the knots of a troubled upbringing but avoids any form of pretentious overstatement. The work speaks for itself without him speaking for it. As writer, Kaphar makes a few more missteps along the way, a slight overstack of melodrama near the end, some rather crudely cartoonish art world stereotypes and some lines that are a tad ungainly (“Some things can’t be worked out on a canvas” – groan). These broad strokes only act as temporary distraction with a heart-grabbing finale that brings together all emotional threads while denying us the cliched hugged out happy ending we’ve learned to expect. Kaphar knows that forgiveness is harder than that and his film refuses to make things easy.

Stories of estranged family members finding their way back to each other have long been a reliable Sundance staple, a stacked subgenre in itself and one that can grow a little wearying as a result. Artist-turned-film-maker Titus Kaphar’s debut Exhibiting Forgiveness, showing in the main dramatic competition here, may not exactly revolutionise the form but he finds an authentic and sensitive way through, distinguishing his film from the flurry of other superficially similar stories.

It’s art as therapy for Kaphar, grappling with a strained relationship with his own father, based on a recorded conversation they once had after 15 years of no contact. Working through one’s own strife as a form of autofiction can often lead to self-indulgence but Kaphar has crafted something that deserves to exist outside of his inner circle, an emotionally wrenching drama set to resonate with those who have also had to confront the complicated equation of radical forgiveness.

How much is too much to take and when does carrying so much resentment start to hurt you more? They’re questions that have been buried by painter Tarrell (André Holland), with a sleekly curated life far from his conflicted upbringing, the light of his devoted mother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) muddied by the dark of his abusive father La’Ron (theatre actor John Earl Jelks). But there’s something eating away at him, night terrors that won’t go away, and when he travels home with his wife (a radiant Andra Day) and young son to help his mother move house, the re-emergence of his father causes a difficult reckoning.

There are troubling questions that Kaphar refuses to provide pat answers for, how one comes to terms with the good things a bad parent might be partly responsible for and how you learn to silence the worst parts of them echoing in your head, if that’s ever truly possible. Flashbacks are admirably limited, mostly focused on one day where we see La’Ron cruelly instill a sense of extreme work ethic in a young Tarrell, a layer of steel he insists is vital in a world that will demand it. How much does Tarrell then credit the strength of his meteoric career to him? How much of that hardness can be justified by the upbringing his father received as a child? Kaphar allows difficult moments to linger as Tarrell voices his anxieties, worrying that he’ll never be able to find his way through this arduous emotional maze. There’s also an effectively angry throughline about the hypocrisy of religion, Tarrell fatigued at how it’s shamelessly used to imply goodness when behaviour suggests otherwise.

Holland wears all of this turbulence in his face, a rage forever simmering, rage that he knows has come directly from his father, a darker part of himself that he’s far quicker in crediting. He’s dynamite here, the kind of dream in-every-scene showcase he’s never really been allowed on screen before, and there are enough electrifying moments, battling with his mother over her maddening enduring love for his father and a final explosion of emotion, to push Holland into both next year’s Oscar race and into a newer, long-deserved category of more prestigious leading roles. As his parents, Ellis-Taylor and Jelks are both superb, intimate arguments with them acted with such rawness, it feels like we’re watching them on stage.

As a first-time director with a background in visual art, Kaphar makes for a refreshingly restrained film-maker, keeping visual gimmicky at bay and involving his real paintings only when the film requires. He understands the importance of using one’s art as a way to untangle the knots of a troubled upbringing but avoids any form of pretentious overstatement. The work speaks for itself without him speaking for it. As writer, Kaphar makes a few more missteps along the way, a slight overstack of melodrama near the end, some rather crudely cartoonish art world stereotypes and some lines that are a tad ungainly (“Some things can’t be worked out on a canvas” – groan). These broad strokes only act as temporary distraction with a heart-grabbing finale that brings together all emotional threads while denying us the cliched hugged out happy ending we’ve learned to expect. Kaphar knows that forgiveness is harder than that and his film refuses to make things easy.