A slightly pretentious response to a more-than-moderately-depressing film
Just got make from "The Squid and the Whale." I bought four packs of Hershey's kisses this afternoon, and I may devour them all in response. My father said after the movie was over, "Wow. That was like getting an operation without any anethetic."
The acting is brilliant. The script did not waste a single word. It's shorter than an hour and thirty minutes. And it's literate! But you're watching four people go through excruciating emotional pain for the entirety of the film. It's the antithesis of melodrama.
I was skeptical of the camera work dring the beginning of the film. There was no evidence of a tripod, which was a little distracting during the shot-reverse-shot sequence where the audience has some hope for the future of the parents' relationship. It felt a little amateur, but I grew to love it. These people were clearly imperfect, and the filming echoed that. But at the end, the editing really shone. Bernard, Jeff Daniel's character, references a film he saw with his wife years ago (as he's being ushered into an ambulance). He says that Joan hated it because of the jump cuts. And in the following sequence, while Walt (Jesse Eisenburg) looks at the father he so idolized with this sense of utter disillusionment, the film is suddenly fractured into a series of jump cuts. You can actually feel Bernard being diminished. Very Eisensteinian, in an understated sense. And I was pleased that the dialogue tied into the film process. The audience was not so much reminded of the fact that this was a film - though if they were, this was their last chance to separate themselves emotionally and leave the theatre with a sense of peace - as they were able to sense an emotional reversal. It reminded me of the panoramic shot at the end of "Broken Flowers": we are left with an appreciation for the enigma, but little resolution. Actually, I feel "The Squid and the Whale" had only one character reversal, from a character who was never established as the protagonist and was by no means the most complex nor the most endearing. However, it was a distinct conclusion, and perhaps a hint at later resolution for the other characters. They were each attached to one another in some way, and the biggest severed tie is now recognized by the character who refused to recognize it throughout. Is that too vague?
The posture Jesse Eisenberg constructed for Frank was brilliant. And he managed to imitate Jeff Daniel's delivery beautifully. Jeff Daniels is always a treat, though I admit it was disturbing to watch him hook up with Anna Paquin, who played his daughter in "Fly Away Home." I have no feedback on Laura Linney except that I sympathized with her far more than Daniels's character, and at the same time I understood why he despised her. That's quite a bit to straddle. The actor who stole the movie, though, was Owen Kline. He played a ten-year-old, and can't be much older than that himself. Yet his ability to exhibit anguish and alcoholism without evoking laughter in the audience - I don't think he rubbed a single funny bone - was incredible. The way he spilled his mother's wine as he poured it was so juvenile I think every heart went out to him. And he, like his cast members, stooped to the level of such vulgarity that just watching it made us feel dirty. It was downright disturbing. His soliloquies in those mirror scenes were brilliantly delivered. I wish I could hug him.
The film did an excellent job of bringing the eighties onto the screen, most notably with their cordless phone. Even the shoes worked. The dark colors brought a sense of dinginess and even sadness to the background of every shot. The new green couch in the last living room scene completely changed the tone of those shots; Laura Linney's laughter was bright and devastating all at once.
Anyway, the real thing I want to record is my appreciation for the writing. Noah Baumbach must have had the most miserable childhood in the world, but his ability to capture such pain onscreen is exquisite. Every character was consistent in his dialogue, especially Bernard! Oh, god! He was able to be literary, pretentious, a washed-up writer, a defeated individual, and a terrible father all within a single sentence. And then he and his mini-me, that poor little Walt, are countered by these innocent women that make them look even more disgusting in comparison. How dare he tell his son to play the field! How dare he curse at Frank! And then the audience watches every word that comes out of his mouth regurgitated by his offspring when they are placed in his position. We have so much hope for Frank, because his brother is already jaded by Bernard's bitter preconceptions and his own regretful past! With every line, Bernard and Walt sneered down their big noses at everyone around them. And they ooze with ideas stolen from great authors, and their academic standing could so easily be mistaken for talent or intelligence. And Walt looks up to Bernard with eyes as big as Frank's are, when Frank looks at his mother. The whole family dynamic is so askew. I came home feeling well-balanced! But admittedly shaken.
So the writing is open like one big cold sore. You can sort of examine the pain and get out in an hour, or you can really delve into it. I think it so lacks the pleasure an audience depends on to get through a film, that it can never have much of a mainstream appeal. It's certainly not something you'd subject yourself to repeatedly. ("The Producers" never looked so good as it does tonight.) But I hope Baumbach does well at the Oscars; I have no doubt he deserves it.