“An open and gentle portrait of dementia with an infectious warmth.”

When Hanne (Dagmar Manzel) opens her front door, she doesn’t expect Kurt (Harald Krassnitzer) there. He is her ex-husband, and somebody she has seen only two times in as many decades. He seems to think they are still married though. Hanne’s current partner, the retired pastor Bernd (August Zirner), takes it in stride when he comes home, and calls the number that is around Kurt’s wrist. It’s Kurt’s daughter Samira, who is abroad and informs Bernd and Hanne that Kurt is living in a temporary care home while she is away. She confirms their suspicion: Kurt is suffering from dementia. When they try to bring Kurt back to the facility, clearly against the confused man’s will, a caretaker explains that they can’t keep Kurt there if he doesn’t want to stay. Since they can’t find him a place to sleep for the night, reluctantly Hanne and Bernd take Kurt in. What they don’t yet know is that this is the start of a relationship triangle which will give a boost to Hanne and Bernd’s life, but also bring up painful memories.

In Welf Reinhart’s debut A Fading Man, dementia is a core element of the narrative, but it’s not the focus. The film deftly shows that the disease is not just a burden for the patient, but also a relational problem, all without wallowing in the misery of the patient in question. Reinhart’s approach is calm and steady, and perhaps a bit flat, yet he shows that life with an Alzheimer’s patient can be a challenge, but not necessarily a negative one. It is not a film of grand gestures, and can feel a bit muted as it follows Hanne and Bernd navigating their new life that includes an unexpected housemate. Small bits of humor – like when Bernd tells Kurt that Hanne and Kurt are in an open marriage and Bernd is her lover; or drama, when Hanne tells Kurt that she left him all those years ago because of their different ideas about having children and because he cheated (something he promptly forgets by the next day) – breathe some life into the film, which otherwise threatens to collapse under its own sincerity. The tenderness between the characters and the frankness with which this film looks at the sex life of older people are refreshing. The elderly are not often the subject of cinema, and in movies their age usually dominates over their character and motives. In a way, that is of course true for Kurt, but A Fading Man does not show a fading life on the part of Hanne and Bernd; in fact, they are full of spirit.

Manzel, Zirner, and Krassnitzer all do solid work in their roles, with the latter having the most demanding part. He conveys Kurt’s confusion, frustration, and anger without resorting to tics or pyrotechnics, making Kurt a well-rounded character who isn’t defined by his dementia but comes across as a lovable, warm man with a gentle heart. Not at all the man Hanne divorced, a discovery that turns her life upside down. Kurt repeatedly has to be reminded of physical boundaries, and a scene where he sincerely gives her his hand and asks where he can touch her, is probably the best moment in the film, and Manzel’s moment to shine. Reinhart’s direction is unobtrusive and mostly perfunctory, with the traditional shots of nature that link the scenes feeling a bit clichéd. Still, A Fading Man serves as an open and gentle portrait of dementia with an infectious warmth, and a nice debut, even if it’s too downbeat to linger long in memory.