We open on an interview.
Matt (Ed Helms), 45 and single, is the San Francisco-based developer of an app dubbed Loner, which allows users to amass photos of random strangers: much the way kids used to collect baseball cards. It proved enormously popular (and, honestly, I can see that happening in real life), and made Matt financially secure. Now he wants a family.
 |
| Matt (Ed Helms) and Anna (Patti Harrison), having a baby together in a rather unconventional manner — both mindful of each other's feelings — struggle to find common emotional ground. |
And not the, ah, usual way. No, with his sperm, a donor egg and a gestational surrogate.
Anna (Patti Harrison), 26 and single, is a coffee shop barista, and a loner by nature. She fields Matt’s eccentric and somewhat invasive questions reasonably well, and finds his sweet-natured excitement at the prospect of fatherhood rather endearing.
They decide to make a go of it.
Writer/director Nikole Beckwith’s Together Together — available via Amazon Prime and other streaming outlets — takes us through the subsequent nine months, with distinct emotional chapters divided by trimester. To a degree, the Matt & Anna dynamic evolves the way we’d expect: initially wary and uncertain, with an increasing chance of thaw and bonding.
On the other hand, Beckwith isn’t that obvious. The relationship actually moves in some surprising — and unexpectedly poignant — directions, primarily because these two people have absolutely nothing in common, and therefore no easy path to comfortable familiarity.
Helms, still channeling the well-meaning nebbish he perfected on television’s The Office, makes Matt the ultimate obsessive/compulsive micro-manager. Once he and Anna metaphorically shake hands, he makes her sign a contract the size of a congressional bill … and, even at that, he overlooks a detail that later haunts him (in an amusing way).
It’s tempting to view Matt as a control freak, just this side of a stalker — surprising Anna at work with a thermos of pregnancy tea, turning up at her apartment at inopportune moments — but we know he’s harmless, and that his heart is in the right place.
She knows, as well. We quickly admire her benevolence, and forgiving nature.
Harrison makes Anna plain-spoken, mildly earthy, unafraid of setting boundaries … and insistent that Matt respect them. Her candor often catches him off-guard; Beckwith’s dialogue frequently is intimately and sexually explicit to a degree that’s both hilarious and cringe-worthy. We chuckle and wince simultaneously.
The tightrope act here — orchestrated by Beckwith, Helms and Harrison — is quite captivating. On the one hand, the premise and dialogue seem somewhat contrived, and overly precious: designed to entertain while playing to Helms and Harrison’s acting strengths. At the same time, their characters are so persuasively engaging, so true, that we accept them as real people.
Don’t expect the classic Hollywood cliché that paired young starlets with leading men two (or even three) times their age, in service of a formulaic romantic encounter. Beckwith treats this generational divide seriously; when Matt attempts to bridge it, Anna stops him cold by pointedly asking “How many twentysomething friends do you have?”
Even so … even so …
Incidental touches are both droll and sweet. Matt introduces Anna to the “brilliance” of classic TV sitcoms: specifically Friends, which they ultimately binge-watch as baby develops (nine months, 10 seasons). He insists that she lie on the floor, once a month, so he can pencil mark her expanding tummy on one wall, much the way parents record their growing children’s height.
They playfully debate which color the nursery walls should be, Matt (of course) having put up about 75 different swatches.
Stand-up comic Tig Notaro brilliantly plays against type as Madeline, the soft-spoken surrogacy therapist who gently guides Matt and Anna through this process; we all should be so lucky, to find somebody so kind and non-judgmental. Sufe Bradshaw is hilarious as the stone-faced ultrasound technician whose no-nonsense authority is the perfect contrast to the self-indulgent bluster and fluster of our expectant “couple.”
Stand-up veteran Julio Torres is equally amusing as Anna’s quirky, prickly and touchingly protective fellow barista, Jules, who (quite appropriately) regards Matt with a dubious eye. Several of Torres’ scenes with Helms have the slightly dangerous aura of improvisation, as if the two are challenging each other (and yes, the press notes confirm a certain degree of spontaneity).
(In the same press notes, Torres describes his character as “a manic Virgo who has a very difficult time stepping out of himself: the kind of person who posts nonstop on Instagram, then deletes it for months and comes back with a new account and no explanation.” And that’s precisely what he brings to the screen.)
Minor supporting roles offer droll moments from a roster of familiar faces: Rosalind Chao, Anna Konkle, Greta Titelman, Fred Melamed, Nora Dunn and several more. Many pop up as Matt’s friends and family members, when Anna insists that he throw a baby shower for himself: an event that signals a crucial narrative and emotional shift.
It’s the key question, in this age where surrogate parenthood has become possible: Can contracts and best intentions overcome biology, intimacy and basic human nature?
Alex Somers’ gentle, piano-based score adds just the right touch.
My one complaint — shared by Constant Companion — is that, as was the case with Minari, this film simply stops, rather than concluding. The final scene isn’t merely ambiguous; it’s borderline cruel. Given our investment in these characters, by this point, that’s rather frustrating.
I guess we must be satisfied with the thoughtful, perceptive and often delightful journey, rather than its destination.
No comments:
Post a Comment