Rating: A-
I’m not very good at death. Maybe none of us are, I don’t know. When my stepfather died last year, it wasn’t much of a shock. Shouldn’t have been, at any rate. The last time we saw him we all pretty much knew that was going to be the last time. And yet when he did finally shed this mortal coil, it hit harder than I expected. Same with my grandfather, whom we watched wither for a decade before he finally let go.
Death has the tendency to make me shut down; I go into a kind of super utilitarian mode and often can’t find the strength to feel my emotions for weeks. I gather this isn’t that strange, but it feels like it should be. Especially when the dying process takes so long. Conceptually, in the cases of both my stepfather and grandpa, I thought I’d come to terms with it. But there’s apparently not much we can do, no matter how much forewarning we might get.
Abstractly, it’s easy to understand it but it still feels like a personal afront. As if the universe itself is doing this to you specifically. For me, I try to spend as little time as I can thinking about it but the prospect is constantly lingering in the back of my head, a constant companion. One day my mom will die. My wife will die. And so will my kids but maybe, if I’m extremely lucky, I’ll be dead before them. One can only hope.
But never have I had the strength or courage to truly confront these facts of existence. Me and my loved ones? We’re immortals. You can’t change my mind. I’d never have the ability to do what filmmaker Kirsten Johnson has done with Dick Johnson Is Dead.
The documentary, available today on Netflix, finds the filmmaker, best known for her film Cameraperson, coming face to face with the fact of her father’s impending death. It’s a beautiful look directly into the eyes of life’s ultimate finality, presented with compassion, love, empathy, and humor. It is an utterly human, heartbreaking film that I couldn’t turn away from.
We might Dick Johnson around his final day as a practicing psychologist at the age of 83. We’re told that for the last few years his memory has been slipping and it’s becoming harder and harder for him to take care of himself. His family has convinced him to leave his home near Seattle to move to New York City where his daughter can care for him. From there, we watch as he adjusts to his new life, which will proof to be his final stage.
The film paints a portrait of a loving father and grandfather who worked hard his whole life to care for his family, even after the painful loss of his wife to Alzheimer’s 7 years earlier. Fiercely independent, it’s hard for him to adjust to the need to be cared for. Similar can be said for Kirsten, who has lived apart from her father for years by the time they live together again. The result is an intensely real, unflinching look at the realities of entering the last stages of living.
A playful filmmaker with an equal playful father, the two begin to film a series of fictional accounts of his impending death. Morbid? Sure. But it’s an interesting way to come to terms with the inevitable. We see him “die” by falling down stairs, being hit by a falling air conditioner, having a random heart attack on the street, and other often gruesome demises. Weirdly, we not only see these moments depicted on film, but also the preparation for them.
This creates some of the films funnier moments, as if the two of them, bolstered by the crew supporting their cinematic endeavors, gives them the strength to literally laugh in the face of death. I’ll admit that while watching it I thought it to be somewhat distracting from the topic at hand. Much of the film is so heartrendingly emotional that it felt odd seeing these moments. However, on reflection, it also allows for moments of levity in what is otherwise a powerfully affecting film.
Bolstered by the love that daughter and father obviously feel for each other, it’s easy to fall under Dick Johnson’s charming spells. In a sense, he’s kind of the everyman of grandpas. It was difficult to watch the elder Johnson and not be reminded of aspects of my own grandfather. As a result, his slow but steady decline is difficult to watch, especially if you’ve ever been in his daughter’s shoes.
And yet it’s also incredibly brave. No amount of emotional preparation can truly prepare you for those final moments, no matter who you are. With the camera in tow, we watch as both father and daughter do their bests to prepare each other for what each knows is coming. It could have been overwhelming, which is why those moments of comedic deaths end up working so well.
Because, in the end, it’s important that we find those moments of levity where we can, even when times are so dark. The light moments are when life happens; we’re never at our best more than we are laughing, even if we’re laughing at ourselves. The younger Johnson does well to remember that, which allows her to present a more vivid, real picture of her father, who is the kind of man we should all be so lucky to have in our lives.
And, for the record, the same goes for his daughter. As much as I firmly believe that I will never and can never die, when the time comes for me to accept the utter fantasy of that belief, I can only hope that I have someone who’s prepared to walk with me to the precipice of my final destination. Someone with whom I can reflect upon my life, which I hope has been well lived, and care for me as I need it.
Which is to say, I hope I can raise someone as brave as I know I might have to be for my wife, or my mom. And I hope I can take it with as much grace as Dick Johnson. I can’t say that Dick Johnson Is Dead helped me understand or accept dying better than I did last year when my stepfather died or eight years ago when we lost grandpa. But it did give me a fascinating look at the realities of dying, and hard as it often was to watch, maybe I’m a bit more comfortable with the idea than I was.
Dick Johnson Is Dead is now available on Netflix.
