In trans theorist Jack Halberstam’s book The Queer Art Of Failure, the academic explores the nature of forgetting as a form of social power and critique. Forgetfulness can be weaponised, as oppressors refuse to acknowledge the violence that underscores their power – but forgetfulness, Halberstam also claims, can be a form of social resistance. Forgetfulness can allow “for a release from the weight of the past and the menace of the future” – an idea that can be vital in imagining a future free from historical and received knowledge, paradigms and forms of social organising like heteronormativity.

Halberstam’s ideas are important and complex, but his explorations are often playful and whimsical, using the character of Dory from Finding Nemo to explore the power of forgetting. Dory and her constantly resetting short term memory, Halberstam notes, possesses a unique proclivity for resisting negative social forces. Through forgetting, Dory releases herself from negative memories, cynicism, worry – and the trap of self-identity. Dory constantly lives in the present, experiencing the world anew, seeing its beauty, and constantly forging improvise relationships and communities. Dory’s forgetfulness means she can’t hold a grudge, she can’t worry about the future, and she can’t hold on to outdated ideas of those she loves. Dory meets everyone as they are, right now, appreciating every moment, no matter how fleeting.

The pain, power and possibility of forgetting is explored in Ross Killeen’s beautiful new film, Don’t Forget To Remember, which explores the relationship between artist Asbestos and his mother Helena, who has Alzheimer’s. Helena is cared for with love and patience by her husband, who admits that the 24/7 job increasingly feels like he’s speaking to his wife, but not with her. Nevertheless, he talks to her, every day trying to gently coax her to find a word for their daily crossword puzzles. Helena can rarely help, and the scenes alternate between feeling tragic and tender, and often both, showing Helena’s struggles and her husband’s determination to bring routine, interaction and laughter to her day.

For Helena’s son, the multi-talented street art Asbestos, he admits that his role as an artist means he both experiences his mother’s forgetting while also observing it, processing his mother’s condition and their switched role of carer/cared for through his art – which thankfully, is still a source of connection for the mother and son. Helena can remember Asbestos’ early creative spark and she laughs with joy whenever she sees photos or drawings of her son at a young age. These moments of connection and memory make Helena’s times of confusion and blankness more painful to observe, but Asbestos also complicates our understanding of her forgetting by noting its small, strange beauty at times. Helena was always a worrier, left anxious and even traumatised by her own childhood and Asbestos notes that she now doesn’t worry. This isn’t presented as or expected to be as a consolation, of course, but highlights Asbestos’ ability to see both the mother he always knew and her new way of existing, and the difference in those identities.

Asbestos’ art evokes these ideas as the artist creates intricate collages to show the nature of memory which layers on memories, associations and meanings in fragmented ways. He then uses old blackboards and chalk to reinterpret old family photographs, displaying them publicly and allowing them to dissolve and disintegrate over time. Killeen brings this visual metaphor into his direction, often erasing, concealing or scribbling over footage to capture the elusive quality of memory and identity. This style never overtakes the emotion of the piece but heightens it, the love and care always clear even when the memories become smudged.

A stunning film. Go, watch, call your Mam.

5/5

Directed by Ross Killeen. Featuring Asbestos. 77 mins. In cinemas September 6