One of Marsh’s Pennsylvanian mothers can trace her ancestry back to the early days of the republic. On her father’s side, she only had a number, “Donor 150” at the California Cryobank. That was Harrison, a former stripper turned hippy beach bum. “Donor” is not exactly the right term. At the height of his “giving,” Harrison was getting up to fifty dollars a toss, so to speak, as often as four times per week. Yet, he was somehow rather shocked to discover he had quite a brood out there in the world.
Harrison’s anonymity was scrupulously protected by the Cryobank, but Marsh was still able to connect with a half-sister through a donor-sibling on-line search site. Slowly, more Donor 150 half-siblings turned up, but when Marsh shared her story for a New York Times piece, the floodgates opened. Harrison also chanced across the paper, learning of Marsh for the first time. Congratulations dude, you’re a father.
There is no getting around Harrison’s problematic nature, though Rothwell tries his hardest. When we are first introduced to him, Harrison is presented as a free-spirited animal lover, a St. Francis of Venice Beach. Slowly, we get a sense that this man is compulsively irresponsible and perhaps a bit self-delusional. However, at about the halfway point, Harrison launches into an unsettling rant of conspiracy theory paranoia. (One wonders if Rothwell was protecting him, keeping the really ugly stuff on the cutting room floor).
Frankly, there is way too much of Harrison in Unknown. The real story seems to be Marsh, who appears to be an intelligent and personable young woman, no thanks to him (or perhaps because of his absence). The way she forges real and meaningful ties of family and friendship with her donor-siblings is very cool, perhaps even inspirational. Whereas the long anticipated meeting with Harrison is mostly just anti-climatic.
