Mexican filmmaker Michel Franco often darkly depicts the complex dynamics within dysfunctional families. That one of the protagonists in his latest film, Memory, has early onset dementia is by no means a red flag that this will be a hackneyed disease-of-the-week movie. Dementia has been a common theme in many recent films (Still Alice [2014] and The Father [2020] being good examples), sometimes to potent effect, though audiences’ resistance to the well-worn subject may be understandable. No such trepidation is required in the case of Memory. Franco is not one to tread familiar ground or to pursue the obvious.

While not his first film in English, Memory is Franco’s first American co-production. Set in New York, it centres on Sylvia (Jessica Chastain), a care worker and recovering alcoholic. Sylvia still attends AA meetings thirteen years after her last drink, a sobriety she imposed on herself when she became a single mother to Anna (Brooke Timber).

Sylvia avoids social interactions and is distrustful of strangers, especially men. She is quick to fix the latches and arm the alarm to her front door when she returns to her modest Brooklyn apartment. She is equally protective of her daughter and forbids her to have a boyfriend. Only the persistent encouragement of Sylvia’s sister Olivia (Merritt Weaver) can coax her into any form of communal activity.

One of those rare social occasions is a high-school reunion, which Sylvia attends with some reluctance. We see her sullenly sitting alone at a table while those around her crowd the dance floor and become increasingly animated from the effects of alcohol. A man slowly approaches her. He doesn’t utter a word, but his presence is so threatening that Sylvia abruptly leaves the party. To her escalating concern, he follows her home and stands by her front door, immovable in the pouring rain.

Next morning, he is still outside her door, asleep. Only then does she drop her guard and realise that there is something not quite right about him. It is also at this point that we surmise that this man is a stranger to her. His name is Saul (Peter Sarsgaard), and while he is barely in his fifties, he suffers from dementia and is under the care of his brother Isaac (Josh Charles).

Peter Sarsgaard as Saul and Jessica Chastain as Sylvia (courtesy of Potential Films)

This should have been the end of Saul’s presence in Sylvia’s life, given her insular nature. Yet she is drawn in. We attribute this to her instincts as a care worker and to Saul’s unthreatening, timid nature. A tentative bond is complicated by Saul’s dementia, but there are other obstacles to negotiate. Trauma can impact cruelly on one’s memory, and it becomes evident that Sylvia is also compromised by an inability to remember events clearly, so much so that we begin to wonder if there might be a more menacing motivation behind her actions.

For the audience, this poses the challenge of negotiating two unreliable narrators. We begin to question our judgement when new details about characters are introduced or when we see them from a different perspective. Those whom we regard as victims in one scene can seem manipulative in the next. There is an instability to the narrative which makes for unexpected twists.

Franco introduces charged themes but handles them in a low-key manner that renders them all the more affecting. Even during a couple of standout scenes of confrontation, the static camera is at a remove. The distance enables us to appreciate small details and gestures that speak to the characters’ relationship dynamics.

Music in the film is as minimal as the camerawork. There is no original score. The only music we hear comes to us from Saul’s obsession with Procol Harum’s ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’, which he plays constantly, sometimes on a loop. He is also fond of the original inspiration for that song, Johann Sebastian Bach’s Air on a G String. Such flashes of simple pleasure are rare.

Throughout his filmography (particularly New Order [2020] and Sundown [2021), Franco has shown little interest in making his characters likeable. His cool depictions of the ugly side of human nature can be an exercise in fortitude. In Memory, he continues to explore humankind’s capacity for selfishness, cruelty, and the destructive behaviour that is borne out of self-preservation.

Despite the typically dark themes at the centre of Memory, it is ultimately his most accessible film, not just because there are bigger names in the cast. This time there is a glimmer of hope. Where scenes veer towards a potentially harrowing outcome, Franco avoids a reductive shock and surprises us by reining in the bleakness. He shows more generosity towards his characters but falls far short of anything that could be called a Hollywood sentimentality.

With a lesser cast it could have been a dour affair, but Memory is blessed with a pair of sublime, natural performances from Chastain and Sarsgaard. Chastain, who has garnered awards for many years, exudes a delicate balance of strength and vulnerability here. It is rare for Sarsgaard to be cast in such a complex lead role. He was Chastain’s choice, and his nuanced, internalised performance earned him the Best Actor award at the 2023 Venice Film Festival.

At a time when cinemagoers seem to balk at heavier dramas, Memory may seem like a daunting prospect. To ignore this finely crafted film, however, would be a shame. Franco’s refusal to offer neat answers ultimately works in the film’s favour. The result of his uncompromising rigour is an intricate portrait of two complex individuals that possesses a quietly persistent resonance.

Memory (Potential Films) is released nationally 14 November 2024.