Four stars. Rated R, for strong sexual content, nudity and profanity
By Derrick Bang
Obsession takes many forms.
Richard and Rachel Biegler (Paul Giamatti and Kathryn Hahn) want a child. The artsy Manhattan-based couple delayed starting a family because Rachel — an author — always had a fresh publishing deadline. Now, having slid into middle age, the “process” has become more complicated.
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| Richard (Paul Giamatti) and Rachel (Kathryn Hahn, center), obsessed with their desire to "become pregnant," are delighted by the distraction offered by their niece, Sadie (Kayli Carter), when she asks to crash in their apartment for awhile. |
Or perhaps things always would have been complicated. Rachel’s eggs apparently aren’t top-quality, and Richard has only one testicle: a detail quickly tossed into any discussion of the topic — even with friends — much to his ongoing embarrassment. (And the first indication of the degree of “sharing” we’re in for.)
“Embarrassment” is plentiful in writer/director Tamara Jenkins’ intimate Private Life, much of it radiating from us viewers, who can’t help feeling like voyeurs. This is one of the most ferociously personal, deeply poignant dramedies I’ve ever seen, and also one of the most painfully, hilariously insightful. We laugh a lot, but often self-defensively: hoping that Jenkins — and her terrific cast — won’t go that one more private step further.
But they always do.
We meet Richard and Rachel well into what already must have been dozens (scores?) of sessions with their specialist, Dr. Dordick (Denis O’Hare, a stitch as the sort of tone-deaf male doctor who tries for humor at all the wrong moments). The film opens as Richard jabs his wife in the buttocks with another hormone shot, the actors bravely bared just as much physically, as emotionally.
We get a sense, as details emerge, that this process is being driven primarily by Rachel, and that Richard is doing everything he can to help and support. Both are weary after months on numerous emotional roller coasters. The hormones make her crazy, alternately bitchy or despondent; he’s exhausted, trying to anticipate and keep up with her moods, without saying or doing something that prompts an unexpected eruption of fury.
Rarely has the phrase “walking on eggshells” been more apt.
Unfortunately — unhappily — it quickly becomes clear that they’ve moved beyond “reasonable” options, and strayed deeply into the realm of fixation. Artificial insemination failed. An attempt to adopt went cruelly awry, as revealed during an absolutely heartbreaking flashback.
Richard and Rachel are midway through their adventure with in vitro fertilization (IVF). Sidebar details are devastatingly funny, none more so than the numerous tableaus of fellow patients — couples, singletons and others — who sit silently, awkwardly and expectantly in various clinic waiting rooms. All wanting the same thing. All uncomfortably aware that merely being present brands them as “failures” in the eyes of those who procreate easily.
That latter group includes Richard’s sister-in-law, Cynthia (Molly Shannon), who believes Rachel has gone off the deep end, and dragged Richard along behind her. Richard’s brother Charlie (John Carroll Lynch) is more sympathetic and pragmatic; he’s also more generous, and willing to write five-figure checks to help with expenses. Much to Cynthia’s disgust.
Cynthia and Charlie have their own problem. Her elder daughter Sadie (Kayli Carter), 25 years old and directionless, has just quit college. (Charlie is Cynthia’s second husband.) Sadie calls it a “leave of absence,” but everybody knows she won’t resume studies. Cynthia and Sadie’s relationship is brittle: not estranged, but Sadie clearly has had it with her mother’s judgmental manner.
Returning home therefore is out of the question. Sadie opts instead to crash with her “aunt- and uncle-in-law,” having always enjoyed an easier, more accepting and less stressful relationship with Rachel and Richard. She’s a relatively easy houseguest, and willingly accepts a menial job at his small pickle business.
When IVF and IUI (intrauterine insemination) yield no better results, Dr. Dordick cautiously suggests working with an egg donor: an option that initially sends Rachel into a tirade. After calming down, and embracing the “hunt” for a suitable donor, she and Richard quickly realize the value of knowing this potential individual. Who, then, do they trust that much?
At which point, a story that already has been excruciatingly frank, and mortifying — invasive, even — becomes even more so.
Numerous films have milked comedy from Thanksgiving gatherings gone horribly, horribly awry. Wait’ll you witness this one.
Giamatti and Hahn are sublime, both individually and together. They display the wary “dance” of couples that have known each other for a long time, and try — not always successfully — to navigate around emotional pitfalls. Giamatti has the best woebegone, long-suffering sigh in Hollywood; Richard’s often forlorn glances at Rachel are raw and uncomfortably revealing. You want to reach into the screen, pat his hand, and insist that everything will be all right.
Hahn bares body and soul in a role that easily could be off-putting, but isn’t; Rachel may be frantic, and prone to short bursts of temper, but she always remains sympathetic. We grieve for the maternal drive that has led her down numerous pathways of promise, only to dead-end at shattered hopes. And Hahn’s quiet moments are ever more powerful; Rachel’s occasional sideways gazes at her husband reveal the depth of her love, and her silent recognition that he truly is on her side, and often as overwhelmed.
At the same time, it’s clear — to each of them, and to us — that all this effort has threatened their marriage. The question remains open: Can their mutual devotion endure?
Carter is every inch the twentysomething cast adrift, desperate — in her own way — to find purpose. Sadie is naïve and often unintentionally condescending, in the manner of college students who’ve taken one class in (pick a subject) and suddenly believe themselves to be experts. At times, she’s as tone-deaf as Dr. Dordick.
But Carter manages to remain adorable, despite Sadie’s immaturity. We sense a decent, probably talented person here; she simply needs to grow up a bit.
Lynch’s Charlie is quietly kind and honorable; I love the compassionate conversation he has with Richard, during a racquetball game. Shannon’s Cynthia is harder to like, but even she has a soft center, and a series of regrets that she — like all perceptive parents — wishes Sadie wouldn’t repeat. Cynthia simply hasn’t learned that we all need to make our own mistakes.
All of this — and these various character dynamics — may seem overly melodramatic, and even contrived; nothing could be further from the truth. Jenkins has an unerring ear for dialogue, and the way people talk to each other: also the way they hang out with each other. The conversational flow feels natural; it’s also frequently laugh-out-loud hilarious.
We may not like to admit it, but each of us is the star of our own ongoing comedy show; Jenkins has found a way to make us chuckle at ourselves, as we laugh at the familiar foibles these characters display.
The story plays to well-chosen musical accompaniment: everything from Bach and Billie Holiday, to Motown and Steve Miller’s “Quicksilver Girl.”
Jenkins is smart enough — throughout — to avoid clichés, heart and flowers. Her story doesn’t conclude as much as it merely pauses: there, too, also mimicking real life. By this point we know Richard and Rachel quite well, and we’re left to wonder: Are they an instructive parable, or a cautionary tale?
I’m certain Jenkins expects answers as unique as each individual viewer.
(It should be mentioned that Private Life is a streaming film available only from Netflix, and not on any local movie screens.)
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