Prisoner’s Daughter – first-look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

Prisoner’s Daugh­ter – first-look review

23 Sep 2022

Two people, a woman and a man, facing each other with serious expressions.
Two people, a woman and a man, facing each other with serious expressions.
Bri­an Cox plays a dying con­vict try­ing to free him­self from the prison of his past through for­give­ness of his daugh­ter in Cather­ine Hardwicke’s for­mu­la­ic fam­i­ly drama.

From the get-go, every­thing we see around sin­gle-moth­er Max­ine (Kate Beck­in­sale) is bro­ken. She grafts mul­ti­ple day and night jobs to pay off a mort­gage on a house plas­tered with cracks of bad mem­o­ries. Cig­a­rette burns on the car­pet mark the night she had to peel her alco­holic moth­er off the floor, and fist-shaped dents in the walls from her father Max (Bri­an Cox) are mould­ed into the foun­da­tion of the dys­func­tion­al fam­i­ly. Even her ex Tyler (Tyson Rit­ter), is an abu­sive addict and washed-up Vegas musi­cian who embod­ies the failed Amer­i­can dream. In the back­ground of her kitchen where she splits her son Ezra’s epilep­sy med­ica­tion in half and adds water to an almost emp­ty jar of jam, Las Vegas mem­o­ra­bil­ia drink­ing glass­es stand empty.

But Max­ine does her best to pro­tect Ezra from a bro­ken future by shel­ter­ing him from the harm of Tyler and the truth about Max’s haunt­ing past as a hit­man. After Max reveals he is dying of pan­cre­at­ic can­cer and can be released on house arrest, Max­ine – not so warm­ly – wel­comes her dad, or ten­ant” as she blunt­ly cor­rects, into her home and a strug­gle for rec­on­cil­i­a­tion unfolds.

Screen­writer Mark Bac­ci pos­es the ques­tion of whether her armour of strength over for­give­ness harms Max­ine more than it pro­tects her. The char­ac­ter arc is ele­vat­ed by Beckinsale’s out­stand­ing per­for­mance as a daugh­ter who, tough­ened by the weight of an abuse and addic­tion-rid­dled child­hood, fights the urge to appear weak in front of her dad in a scene where the pair shed light on their dark past. Beck­in­sale strikes a skil­ful bal­ance of restraint and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty which is a delight to watch besides Cox who sur­ren­ders him­self to Max – a man cod­ed to com­mu­ni­cate in vio­lence, now stands with his palms pressed togeth­er, beg­ging for Maxine’s for­give­ness with an offer of ‘“clean money.”

Bac­ci and Hard­wicke present some inter­est­ing nuances on the issue of vio­lence. Max­ine is moti­vat­ed to break the cycle of vio­lence” that bled the joy from her child­hood dry, and Max bonds with Ezra by teach­ing him the basics of fight­ing. It’s in vio­lence, dur­ing a box­ing ses­sion with Max’s old friend Hank (Ernie Hud­son), when we final­ly see a (blink and you’ll miss it) glimpse of Ezra’s pent-up pain that he masks with jokey remarks in conversations.

It’s this flick­er of feel­ings where the film’s flaws lie. More time could’ve been giv­en to explor­ing char­ac­ters’ emo­tions – par­tic­u­lar­ly with such strong per­for­mances from the cast. There’s a scene where Ezra calls an ambu­lance after Max unex­pect­ed­ly falls to the floor but the scene is cut short before Con­very gets to process Ezra’s emo­tions. Any ten­sion that builds in this nerve-wrack­ing moment quick­ly deflates and sim­i­lar frus­trat­ing tonal shifts are lit­tered through­out the film.

Though the film doesn’t offer sat­is­fy­ing emo­tion­al cathar­sis, it makes up for it with its the­mat­ic explo­ration of for­give­ness, redemp­tion and mor­tal­i­ty. Prisoner’s Daugh­ter is ground­ed in an hon­est real­ism about the cycle of vio­lence and abuse that, in a bit­ter­sweet but expect­ed way, comes full cir­cle on the char­ac­ters’ past, present and futures.

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