Fair warning, "Gold Star" is an incredible and wholly truthful film with a very targeted, heavy, and multi-pronged impact awaiting those who have seen a parent through to end-of-life. It may also prove a conflicting challenge for those who haven't, as our reactions while serving in the caretaker role can present as inexplicable to those yet to bear its cross.
Victoria Negri writes, directs, and radiates a processing-driven weariness in the role of twenty-something daughter Vicki -- no doubt a character naming convention tipping us to the notion that Ms. Negri has herself experienced her script's own machinations in real-world time. Acclaimed actor Robert Vaughn expertly inhabits what proved to be his swansong role as Vicki's stroke-decimated father Carmine. They love each other, and it's complicated, because it always is. For those not looking beneath the skin, Vicki may seemingly exhibit the pretense of self-focus, but it's a lens tied directly to her father's health and her pained realizations that he won't see her blossom into a more fully realized self. A promising pianist before and perhaps again in the future, Vicki works at a health club, and turns on herself in ways falsely construed as narcissistic. If self-absorption in a loved one's waning moments sounds perverse, contradictory, or misplaced, therein lies the rub of the parental caretaker role: What we see on screen here shockingly reflects the way it works for most who put on the boots, and kudos to Negri for holding back not one paradoxical truth in her terrifically hard-fought film. Along the way, of course there are sisters and second parents and boyfriends entering and exiting "Gold Star," all of whom represent perfectly convoluted depictions of relational imperfectness, the core traits of which can be cruelly and perversely magnified in crisis.
After a parent passes, there is a common emotion felt between most true-hearted parental caretakers: That feeling is guilt - guilt in how we counter-intuitively behaved in those precious final days; guilt over our failure to somehow miraculously save; a hindsight-driven guilt in our failure to adequately express; guilt in having failed to live in an accomplishment-driven way which we perceive would have empowered the parent to rest proud and assured. If we're lucky, we later learn that these are almost universal reactions, yet ones we only impose on ourselves; in no way do they reflect our departed loved one's earthly or spiritual vantage point. Filmmakers often create for others, but in "Gold Star," Victoria Negri exhibits raw wounds for your sake and hers. Here's hoping her film's massive achievement serves, too, as her own ultimate catharsis. - (Was this review of use to you? If so, let me know by clicking "Helpful." Cheers!)
Victoria Negri writes, directs, and radiates a processing-driven weariness in the role of twenty-something daughter Vicki -- no doubt a character naming convention tipping us to the notion that Ms. Negri has herself experienced her script's own machinations in real-world time. Acclaimed actor Robert Vaughn expertly inhabits what proved to be his swansong role as Vicki's stroke-decimated father Carmine. They love each other, and it's complicated, because it always is. For those not looking beneath the skin, Vicki may seemingly exhibit the pretense of self-focus, but it's a lens tied directly to her father's health and her pained realizations that he won't see her blossom into a more fully realized self. A promising pianist before and perhaps again in the future, Vicki works at a health club, and turns on herself in ways falsely construed as narcissistic. If self-absorption in a loved one's waning moments sounds perverse, contradictory, or misplaced, therein lies the rub of the parental caretaker role: What we see on screen here shockingly reflects the way it works for most who put on the boots, and kudos to Negri for holding back not one paradoxical truth in her terrifically hard-fought film. Along the way, of course there are sisters and second parents and boyfriends entering and exiting "Gold Star," all of whom represent perfectly convoluted depictions of relational imperfectness, the core traits of which can be cruelly and perversely magnified in crisis.
After a parent passes, there is a common emotion felt between most true-hearted parental caretakers: That feeling is guilt - guilt in how we counter-intuitively behaved in those precious final days; guilt over our failure to somehow miraculously save; a hindsight-driven guilt in our failure to adequately express; guilt in having failed to live in an accomplishment-driven way which we perceive would have empowered the parent to rest proud and assured. If we're lucky, we later learn that these are almost universal reactions, yet ones we only impose on ourselves; in no way do they reflect our departed loved one's earthly or spiritual vantage point. Filmmakers often create for others, but in "Gold Star," Victoria Negri exhibits raw wounds for your sake and hers. Here's hoping her film's massive achievement serves, too, as her own ultimate catharsis. - (Was this review of use to you? If so, let me know by clicking "Helpful." Cheers!)