‘Father’ review: Slovak filmmaker Tereza Nvotova presents a bold, powerful portrait of paternal guilt

Dir: Tereza Nvotova. Slovakia/Czech Republic/Poland. 2025. 103mins

Frazzled father Michal (Milan Ondrik) drops his two-year-old daughter at nursery then plunges into a stressful day at work. Hours later, he realises that he didn’t, in fact, leave her at nursery after all, and the child perished in the baking summer heat of his car. Tortured by grief and guilt, Michal questions whether he has any right to a future; meanwhile, his marriage starts to buckle under the stress. This is raw, uncomfortable filmmaking which, thanks to Ondrik’s extraordinary performance and Tereza Nvotova’s bold directing choices, doesn’t just show us Michal’s anguish, it evokes, with uncanny accuracy, the physiological sensations of mounting dread.

 Directed and acted with an unflinching, almost ruthless precision

This is the third feature from Nvotova following 2017 debut Filthy and 2022’s Nightsirens, which won Locarno’s Golden Leopard. This latest work further cements her as a significant talent; it’s hard to think of any picture since Lodge Kerrigan’s Keane (2004) which has so bruisingly captured the choking anxiety of parental failure. Father, which premiered in Venice and won Zurich’s Golden Eye for best film, is Slovakia’s offician Oscar submission, and screens in Tallinn during a healthy festival run. While it’s an undeniably harrowing watch, the quality of the filmmaking has seen it secure deals in several key territories, and may tempt further distributors.

The question that hangs over the film – it’s perhaps even a stumbling block at first – is how could this tragedy have happened? How could a parent who adores his child not only forget that she is in the car, but also create a false memory of delivering her to safety? But Nvotova’s screenplay is factually based, not just on one case but on multiple instances. There’s even a name for this well-documented memory glitch: ’Forgotten Baby Syndrome’. 

The life that Michal, the editor/publisher of a magazine, shares with his younger wife Zuzka (Dominika Moravkova) is enviable and affluent. Using the first of the many long, unbroken and technically complex tracking shots that are a feature of cinematographer Adam Suzin’s approach, Nvotova captures the high-achieving bustle of the moneyed household. The house is airy and modern; Michal and his family’s lives seem blessed.

But there’s an undercurrent of stress, in the tight smiles of Michal’s employees and the hectoring, perpetual ring of his cellphone. The business is struggling and everyone needs something from Michal, placing mounting demands on his attention and his time. None of which is an excuse for his fatal mistake, but, like the throbbing, rhythmic pulse of the score, it’s a subliminal background hum of disquiet. 

Music, by Nvotova’s regular collaborator Pjoni, is a central and essential component in the picture’s visceral power. Michal’s mounting panic as he first realises that something is wrong is brilliantly evoked, by a swell of sound that captures the roar of blood in the ears; meanwhile, the camera loses its grip on the ground, swimming in vertigo-inducing spirals. As time passes, the shock is muted but the guilt and grief are stubbornly persistent. They come in waves, heralded by the intense swell of the score and by the agony in Michal’s face as it crumples. It’s a performance so stinging and flayed that it’s painful to watch.

Zuzka, on the other hand, is harder to read. Her initial reaction – an animalistic howl of prolonged despair – is relatable. But a later scene – still, we assume, a few short weeks after her daughter’s death – sees Zuzka dancing joyfully around her living room before telling Michal that they need to separate. Perhaps it’s the realisation that she can leave that prompts her to dance. Perhaps she just needs to move her body. But, as a filmmaking choice, it’s a moment that feels jarringly out of tune with the rest of the film. Still, it’s a rare note of discord in a film which is otherwise directed and acted with an unflinching, almost ruthless precision.