SXSW 2022 | MOVIE REVIEW: How Far Will You Take it With "I Love My Dad"?

8/12 ForReel Score | 3.5/5 Stars

Desperation is a human condition that is perfectly suited for comedy. It takes the tragic, down-on-their-luck character, and gives them that diabolical nudge—that nudge they usually don’t need—towards blind pursuit of redemption, besetting them on an ill-fated path of comical misunderstandings and follies. But sometimes that path is more dissolute than it is comically endearing. As James Morosini’s I Love My Dad so painfully reminds us, desperation can also be mined for great discomfort.

Twenty-something-year-old Franklin Green (Morosini himself) is in the throes of depression, attending group therapy sessions after a recent suicide attempt, and, judging by the way he eyes another girl in his sessions, he’s also pining for a romantic connection. At the same time, his scheming, estranged father, Chuck (Patton Oswalt), is desperate to reconnect with him. When Franklin blocks Chuck on social media—no doubt a move of self-care—Chuck makes a reckless bid to stay in his son’s life and invents Becca Thompson, a persona compiled from the profile photos of a girl working at Chuck’s local diner (Claudia Sulewski). Miraculously, Franklin accepts the poor excuse for an online profile with an authentic IRL extension, as well as his dad’s attempts at flirting, and he starts to fall for Becca. Yes—this is a film in which a father catfishes his own son.

If the premise alone is enough to put you off your lunch, rest assured: that’s only the tip of the implied incest iceberg. This squirm fest sets up its absurd scenario early and leaves itself plenty of runway to test just how far the awkwardness can be pushed. The script, penned by Morosini and apparently based off a true story, posits two unmistakably masculine forms of desperation against each other, and heightens them to their most unseemly extremes.

Thankfully, this cringe-brand comedy isn’t dead set on inspiring nervous laughter or queasiness alone. Morosini has compassion for his characters—perhaps because they’re closer to him than we think—and he uses their desperation to unfold layers of pathos, whether it is Franklin’s frailty or Chuck’s earnestness. Where this film is lacking is when it doesn’t go deep enough, as it doesn’t explore the root of Franklin’s depression or the basis of Chuck’s vies for redemption. At the same time, what basis there is for Franklin’s aversion towards his father feels almost petty. Franklin does divulge to “Becca” his father’s past habit of scamming online chess games (a skill that finds hilarious re-application in Chuck’s catfishing), but this feels like a poor excuse to freeze your father out of your life entirely.

Suspension of disbelief is required for watching I Love My Dad, but that’s quite apparent from the start. If you’re on board, sticking with Morosini’s rollercoaster will yield zany and icky surprises, as well as some delightfully committed performances. Oswalt and Morosini take on their characters with panache, and do their best at finding a depth in the central relationship, despite its flimsy nature. Newcomer Claudia Sulewski and comedy legend Rachel Dratch provide sorely needed voices of reason; Dratch in particular striking gold by standing in for the audience and calling Oswalt’s character on his dubious behavior. And despite the fact that her words come from Chuck, her coy and flirtatious mannerisms from Franklin’s imagination, Sulewski manages to make Becca her own, an archetype of male fantasy, but still someone who is innately human.

I Love My Dad is destined to be received as a polarizing feature, a warped, Internet-era re-telling of Mrs. Doubtfire where implied father-son relations are sometimes (often) the punch line. Rest assured, I Love My Dad never achieves the depravity of, say, a Todd Solondz film. There is a warmth in Morosini’s film by comparison, and this comes from the understanding that desperation, though often corrupted and misguided, can stem from a basic yearning to be accepted. But you shouldn’t feel desperate to relate to this work, so it’s up to you just how much you’re willing to accept.