Skip to main content

Private Life

Spoiler alert.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1orjA9Z8g4

One of the better movies I've seen this year is "Private Life," by Tamara Jenkins. It's not perfect. These days, at least in many cases, if you're having a baby through surrogacy, you're explicitly advised *not* to use the donor egg of someone you know well. Given that this warning now seems to be the norm, it's weird that Jenkins doesn't include a lengthy discussion w/r/t Giamatti/Hahn's violation of the norm.

It's plausible enough that a couple would choose to violate the norm. Maybe it's a financial question. Maybe the couple is so smitten with their donor, they're convinced nothing emotional/spiritual/moral could ever go awry. I'm willing to believe these things. But Jenkins needs to have dialogue in which these things are spelled out. And she needs to have a scene were Giamatti/Hahn confront Molly Shannon and really wrestle with the idea of carrying out a perilous plan. Not including that conversation feels like a copout.

All that aside, I loved this movie. You can give Tamara Jenkins any topic--dying parents, conception, terrorism, supermarket shopping--and you're still going to recognize the Jenkins "imprint." Jenkins is interested in bad faith and pretense--and you'll see those themes in anything she writes, regardless of the setting and the complications.

Hahn and Giamatti are not the greatest people in the world, and, at least from one angle, what they're doing is exploiting a young, lost woman. You cringe as they try to rationalize their behavior--as they bury their mixed motives under beatific smiles. Young Donor has some bad faith issues, too. She promises to make a certain hospital appointment on time, then terrorizes her couple by being late. (She's twenty-two. Some boy got in the way.) "The subways were down. I sent you a text," says Young Donor, with the weak, foolish indignation that any parent of teenagers will recognize.

"You sent a text," says Hahn. "That's not the same thing as being on time."

Jenkins also excels when she explores unstated truths. Hahn feels murderous fury (and envy) toward her irresponsible Young Donor. Instead of working through what is happening in her head, she tells Young Donor, "I'm just going to wait in the car." (This is borderline cruelty, given the vulnerable situation Young Donor is in.)

It's easier to feel anger toward a stranger than toward someone you idolize. So, when Young Donor finally leaves the hospital, she says, "The doctor was so mean to me. He said I was a freak," and then she begins sobbing. It's not clear that the doctor really was mean; it's possible that Young Donor, unable to tolerate her discomfort, has projected her Hahn-directed hurt feelings onto the strange man in the lab coat. We'll never really know. Giamatti, in his rage, stages a public spectacle as the doctor looks on, unmoved. We feel Giamatti's embarrassment, desperation, and disappointment in himself. It's an exquisite sequence.

Smart, too, to include another lapse in Young Donor's judgment. Worried that her eggs are deficient, she secretly begins taking *extra* hormones to pump herself up. Of course this backfires, and Young Donor becomes seriously ill. An incisive portrait of youthful silliness, and something I'm sure I've never seen on the big screen before.

Jenkins seems to take semi-sadistic pleasure in puncturing all our Hollywood-fed hopes. The Young Donor does *not* succeed. Jenkins flashes "NINE MONTHS LATER" across the camera, and we're led to think that someone else has come through for Giamatti/Hahn. But in fact that's not true. They're still childless. Another tease: We see the two in a cafe, about to meet their prospective baby mama. But, like a mean schoolmarm, Jenkins again withholds from us. The credits roll over an excruciatingly awkward and silent depiction of waiting. We never learn if the couple we love has a shot at having their baby.

But, in all that bleakness, life happens. Young Donor discovers her vocation. Giamatti and Hahn have some hard, plausible conversations, and their marriage seems to deepen and take on new colors. New bonds emerge between an old generation and a young one; old and young have a chance to study, and to develop affection for, each other's special craziness.

Life does tend to happen. Jenkins captures life via artifice. She's so skilled, at times you may feel you're watching a documentary. "Private Life" is two hours well-spent.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...