The brilliance, and terror, of Florian Zeller’s The Father, is that we’re living inside the mind of an aging man losing his identity to Dementia. To watch it from the outside is bad enough. I know. I was that daughter too. But to be the one losing his grip on who he was is truly heartbreaking. Reality’s blurred, time’s not static, past and present are mixed up with each other, and people are not who they seem; confused with memory, fantasy, and warring parts of The Father, himself. Florian Zeller is a keen observer of a devastating disease that no...