Mark Reviews Movies: OUR FATHER

Our Father, Netflix

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Review by Mark Dujsik | May 10, 2022

Nobody knows why Donald Cline, a seemingly upright and respected fertility doctor who was considered to be at the top of his field in Indianapolis, did what he did. Nobody even knows the extent of what he did. His obvious—if still, technically, alleged—crimes weren't even considered to be illegal in the state where he committed them or as a matter of federal law. The end results of the investigation into Cline and the pursuit of getting him to face justice, then, are kind of inevitable in Our Father. That doesn't make Lucie Jourdan's documentary any less important and infuriating.

The key is that the director, who already knows where this story is heading, keeps the focus on the people who truly matter. It's not Cline, for sure, whom we hear in multiple phone calls try to play the victim, plead for some unearned sympathy, and, when those tactics fail, make implicit threats against those who know the truth, if not the extent, of what he did.

It's not in the government officials who could bring justice, especially since most of them either don't seem to care or are at a loss as to how any kind of prosecution against Cline could occur. It's not with his colleagues at the clinic where he performed his awful actions with lifelong consequences on his victims. They spent decades in close proximity to the man and his deeds, apparently unaware of what was happening and, even now, still grateful to Cline for the professional boost he provided them.

No, Jourdan keeps the film's focus squarely on the people who were blatantly, if not legally, defrauded by the doctor, and that's the most generous description of what he did for decades. Some of these victims go so far as to call it rape, and one can easily see and accept that logic.

After all, Cline performed artificial insemination on these women. Without their consent, he implanted his own semen into their bodies. These women were of the understanding that the actual donor was someone of their choosing—either someone who, unlike Cline, went through an actual screening process of some kind or, to make matters even more sinister, a spouse.

At the time, Cline would have had to have provided a fresh sample, and of the various horrific details of all of this, the fact that he would have in a state of post-orgasm euphoria while doing these procedures might be the most disturbing. Even if Cline didn't think it, the entire process was inherently sexual, if only in some corner of his mind.

Cline was in a position of power and trust, and he abused that for reasons that are and almost certainly will remain a mystery to those he wronged. They have to live with that unknown and so many others, and by "they," of course, we're referring, not only to the parents of these children who resulted from Cline's acts, but also to the children themselves. They most certainly didn't ask for any of this, but they, as well as their own children in certain regards, have to spend the rest of their lives dealing with all of it.

The narrative here does play out in the mold of a mystery being solved. While Jourdan interviews multiple victims—parents, although mostly mothers, and children alike—and those associated with Cline or the attempted legal actions against him, the primary figure here is Jacoba Ballard, whose mother went to Cline for medical help conceiving. Growing up, she recalls hoping for a sibling one day—a desire that Cline's deeds have twisted—and believing that she was adopted, since she, unlike the rest of her family, has blonde hair and blue eyes.

As an adult, Ballard did an online DNA profile, only discover an unknown paternity. The man she—as well as her mother and her father, the man himself—believed to be her biological father was, in fact, not. With the help of an online ancestry tool, she discovered previously unknown siblings and traced all of their paternity to Cline.

From there, the story unfolds with constant shock, with interviews, dramatic re-creations, and actual audio from Cline. Meanwhile, a ticking counter of the number of siblings keeps rising—well past the three that's ethically required of any single sperm donor and even past what Ballard and her half-siblings believe could be possible. That's the expected approach and tone of a true-crime narrative as unbelievable (although the coda explains that a few dozen other doctors across the country have been discovered to have done similar misdeeds) and upsetting as this one.

Jourdan achieves that emotional reaction, for sure, but that's also the expected result of a true-crime story such as this. The vital quality of the filmmaker's examination of Cline's actions is that Jourdan allows the victims to speak, not only about the timeline and the theories (which are, given Cline's religious background and possible participation in a cult, pernicious, even if they're only partially accurate), but also about the constantly evolving ways they have to consider and re-consider their lives, their families, their other relationships, and simply everyday contact with complete strangers. After all, as that ticker keeps climbing, who's to say that someone who looks a bit like all of these siblings isn't just another in that ever-growing chain?

The details of the case emerge with clarity, disbelief, and anger. Our Father, though, is also and equally concerned with ensuring that, with every new development and revelation, there is also a new level of pain, fear, or uncertainty to contemplate. This film cares about the facts, but more importantly, it wants us to understand the personal plight of its subjects.

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