‘We’re here to celebrate shitty dads!’
Paternal Leave is a story that resists easy conclusions, and that refusal is part of what makes it feel so honest.
Written by Giorgia Cattaneo
Fifteen years old and full of anger, Leo (Juli Grabenhenrich) travels alone from Germany to the coasts of northern Italy in search of answers. She wants to know her estranged biological father, a man called Paolo (Luca Marinelli), a surfing coach living in a shuttered beach bar in Marina Romea. Their encounter is immediately fraught with pain and conflict: while Leo is a nearly grown woman who has spent all her life missing a part of her identity, Paolo must come to terms with a past he has long tried to hide.
In her feature-film debut, director Alissa Jung handles a familiar subject, but the intimacy and raw honesty she brings to it are impossible to overlook.
Leo isn’t just looking for answers: she’s demanding a place in her father's life. But that place has already been taken by Emilia, the four-year-old daughter Paolo had with another woman, someone he actually seems intent on caring for. Even though the two never meet each other properly, we witness part of the girl’s growth through her relationship with her half-sister – from the anger she feels towards her, as someone who has something she never had, to a sense of identification with that innocent child, and a deep, mature instinct to protect her, as if protecting a part of herself.
The movie also reflects on the responsibilities and fears that result from becoming a parent at a young age, and desists from romanticizing them. Unresolved, inadequate, vulnerable, Paolo has no clue how to react to Leo’s showing up, nor how to explain his long absence from her life. He’s incapable of telling the truth, even to her ex-girlfriend Valeria, Emilia’s mother, whom he never told about his other daughter. Throughout, his half-hearted attempts to be better – and still nowhere near good enough – make us question what his true intentions really are. Jung here offers no justifications, yet avoids condemning him outright, portraying instead a search for a new understanding of fatherhood, one Paolo must learn to rediscover.
Another key character in the story is Edoardo (Arturo Gabbriellini), a local boy, caught between a hostile father and the courage to be true to himself. Leo will discover she has a lot in common with him, and the two will help each other in their fight against a world of adults unwilling to face the consequences of their actions.
While the director’s camera quietly follows the characters and focuses on capturing the entirety of their looks and gestures, it knows exactly when it’s time to pull back and avoid intrusion, leaving space for the untold.
Dialogue plays a fundamental role too: since Leo and Paolo don’t share the same language, English becomes their neutral common ground – cold, functional, ultimately insufficient, a further sign of the emotional abyss that separates them. It’s not a coincidence that the only times we hear them speaking their mother tongues – German for Leo, Italian for Paolo – are during fights; a choice that shows how their incommunicability transcends the language barrier and is rooted deeply in emotional disconnect.
The film echoes this tone with cold, muted colours dominating the screen, reflecting the distance and uncertainty pervading the characters. Yet, flashes of softness emerge, such as in the pink feathers of the flamingos populating the Adriatic coast. Their presence is out of place in the stark winter landscape, much like Leo is in her father’s world. Both are undeniable forces of disruption and tenderness, impossible to ignore.
Flamingos also serve as a compelling metaphor for parenthood in the movie: unlike many species, flamingo couples share the demanding roles of incubating their eggs and nurturing their chicks equally. The final image of an injured flamingo imagery further underscores the fragility of this father-daughter journey: a visual reminder of what has been damaged, but also what can be healed through care and commitment.
Paternal Leave is a story that resists easy conclusions, and that refusal is part of what makes it feel so honest. A coming-of-age for both father and daughter, adult and adolescent, held together by simple rituals such as improvised pasta, Italian songs, tattoo sharing, sea baths, smiles, and silences that speak louder than words.
The movie had its world premiere at the Berlinale 2025 and is currently showing in Italian theatres, with international distribution underway.
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