Let Them All Talk: No, really, they should stop!

Let Them All Talk (2020) • View trailer

2.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.22.21 

Although director Steven Soderberg’s gentle little drama has its charms, it’s more of an acting exercise than an actual film.

 

Alice (Meryl Streep, foreground) has just spotted a fellow writer — one who seems more
popular than she — much to the amusement of, from left, companions Tyler
(Lukas Hedges), Susan (Dianne Wiest) and Roberta (Candice Bergen).

As revealed in the production notes, Deborah Eisenberg’s “script” was more an outline: the broad strokes of the story, with its key plot beats, and a general sense of the primary characters. Most dialogue was left to actor improv, which was fine-tuned during production.

 

Seasoned pros like Meryl Streep and Dianne Wiest clearly had no trouble with this approach. The rest of the cast … leave something to be desired. The results are visible via HBO MAX.

 

New York-based author Alice Hughes (Streep) is celebrated for two novels: her debut, You Always, You Never, which brought her a Pulitzer; and the more recent A Function of the Body, which has just earned the Footling Prize. She regards the latter as more prestigious, because it’s bestowed by writers: an honor therefore coming from her peers.

 

That aside, Alice’s publisher has grown impatient over the lack of progress on her next book. Karen (Gemma Chan), a newbie literary agent, has been sent to extract some details. The rumor is that it might be a sequel to You Always, You Never, but Alice refuses to say anything. Even so, she’s clearly been working on something, given the tall stack of manuscript pages.

 

Much as Alice would love to attend the UK presentation of the Footling Prize, she can’t fly. (Streep’s visible discomfort at the very notion suggests a phobia.) No matter, Karen replies brightly, clearly invested in the publicity that would be generated by a personal appearance; you could travel by luxury liner.

 

(Talk about serendipity: Cunard, which allowed shooting to take place aboard its flagship Queen Mary 2, must be loving the positive attention, as a welcome change.)

 

Alice accepts this suggestion, in part as a means to re-connect with old school chums Susan (Wiest) and Roberta (Candice Bergen), whom she hasn’t seen in 35 years. Both accept the all-expenses-paid invitation; Alice’s nephew Tyler (Lucas Hedges) completes the party, as a sort of wrangler. Unknown to Alice, Karen also joins the cruise, still hoping to learn something about the mysterious manuscript.

 

Once on board, the reunion is tense, even prickly. We gradually learn that Alice apparently mined details of Roberta’s tempestuous marriage for You Always, You Never; she therefore has long blamed Alice both for the subsequent divorce, and for the dead-end life she has led ever since. Worse yet, Roberta is convinced that the rumored sequel will re-open old wounds.

 

Susan — psychologically perceptive, and a peacemaker by profession — does her best to mend fences … but, actually, her “best” isn’t very compelling. This is where the production’s improv nature begins to fail. We keep waiting for Susan to do or say something profound; it never occurs. And while Roberta may have a valid reason for the long estrangement, one wonders why Susan also chose to stay out of touch with Alice.

 

Hedges is worst served by the filmmaking style. On the positive side, Tyler’s warm relationship with his aunt is deftly established; there’s a sense that Alice took him under her wing, due to his disastrous parents (although this is left vague, like so much else). Streep and Hedges work well together.

 

In great contrast, Tyler’s awkward efforts at establishing a relationship with Karen are a non-starter that becomes progressively more irritating. He rarely gets beyond “ums, erms, uhs” and other monosyllabic grunts; it’s like he’s incapable of completing a full sentence. Hedges, Oscar-nominated for 2016’s Manchester by the Sea, obviously is doing this intentionally; he’s too good an actor to genuinely fumble in such a manner. But if he — and Soderbergh — think that this affectation grants Tyler an actual personality, they’re sadly mistaken. It’s simply annoying.

 

Chan isn’t much better. Karen is fairly fresh as a solo literary agent, having previously apprenticed for seven years; Chan therefore imbues her with the wide-eyed eagerness of one who knows she’s inexperienced, and compensates by trying too hard. But it doesn’t work, particularly during Karen’s non-responses to Tyler’s interest in her. Chan looks and sounds artificial: more like an inexperienced actress compensating, by trying too hard.

 

On top of which, such bashful mumbling might be appropriate for a high school crush, but between a mid-twentysomething and a mid-thirtysomething? That’s ridiculous.

 

Bergen’s Roberta is appropriately frosty, but her passive/aggressive behavior becomes bewildering, if not downright cruel. Alice keeps trying to bridge the divide — and Streep handles each barbed encounter with subtle graciousness — but Bergen soon becomes more of a bull in a china shop, amid the quieter approach taken by everybody else. Again, Bergen makes Roberta less of a persuasive character, and more of a clumsy acting class construct.

 

Which brings us to Streep, who is marvelous throughout; she’s such a master of the perfectly timed little gesture. When Alice pauses, searching for the right thing to say, it feels absolutely organic and natural, rather than artificial. She’s also hilariously pompous, in the manner of snobs who never recognize this shortcoming in themselves. Few can inject such condescending snark into a few choice words.

 

Streeps’ supreme moment comes when Alice is introduced, during a meal with her companions, to popular thriller writer Kelvin Kranz (Daniel Algrant), also aboard the same cruise. She’s clearly at war with herself: caught between her polite refinement, and a strong desire to convey a withering opinion of anybody who’d become famous by writing such junk. Streep’s expression, as Alice wrestles with herself — the pause becoming ever more pregnant — is priceless.

 

Soderbergh also handles the editing and cinematography — concealed behind the respective pseudonyms Mary Ann Bernard and Peter Andrews — and the latter is constantly suffused by an orange-hued glow. This may be faithful to the liner’s ambient lighting, but it becomes quite distracting.

 

On the other hand, Thomas Newman supplies a terrific big band-based jazz score, blended with classical excerpts by Mozart, Haydn, Schubert and Gershwin. The music has far more personality than several of the characters it supports.

 

Is all this enough on which to hang a film? Probably not, despite the fascinating depth that Streep brings to her role.

As both Alice and Kelvin would agree, nothing beats the precision of the written word. Soderbergh should have allowed Eisenberg to supply more of them.