This American Family
by James Roland
If Frank Capra had an edgy, pop-culture-savvy ex-stripper granddaughter, she probably would be Diablo Cody.
Cody’s first script, Juno, has all the charm, wit, and hope of a Capra film; and like It’s a Wonderful Life and You Can’t Take it With You, Cody’s story manages to project sweetness and hope without compromising artistic value.
But Juno will never play on TBS over the holidays, because it delivers its feel-good message with smirks and snark.
The title character, Juno, is the geek-certified über-girl-next-door. She’s cute, brainy, witty, and has a head stuffed full of pop-culture. Played by Ellen Page, a tremendously talented Canadian actor with a baby face and tiny frame that allows her to play characters below her age range, Juno’s humor and charm infuse the entire film. When she finds out she’s pregnant by her best pal Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) she sets about telling her family and finding potential adoptive parents through the local want ads.
For the first half of the film, characters banter their way around the tough issues of teen pregnancy and abortion. Juno herself paves the way for a cast that could all use a good year of therapy for their sarcastic defense mechanisms. But as the story progresses, a low-key sadness filters through all the tongue-in-cheek. Juno wonders if she really wants to keep the baby, Paulie longs to show his love to Juno by helping her through her struggles, and the baby’s future parents (played by Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman) wonder if their marriage will survive an adopted child.
But while the film acknowledges these hard facts, it never succumbs to cynicism.
Juno is directed by up-and-coming comedy auteur Jason Reitman (director of last year’s Thank You for Smoking and son of Ghostbusters director Ivan Reitman). Reitman’s style feels similar to the films of Jared Hess, using long camera shots, rich, saturated colors, and unique indie music to create a slightly exaggerated reality.
These quirks give Juno a smiling, toe-tapping feel that counters its “in your face” subject matter. It’s a throwback to another time and a glimpse of possible film future: heartwarming family dramas — with sex jokes for the kids.
* * *
After a nine year hiatus, writer/director Tamara Jenkins has followed-up her Sundance darling, Slums of Beverly Hills, with a subtly shocking depiction of aging American families.
The Savages chronicles the defeat and demise of Lenny Savage (Philip Bosco), as seen through the eyes of his estranged children Wendy (Laura Linney), a struggling playwright in New York, and Jon (Phillip Seymore Hoffman), a full time teacher and part-time writer from Boston.
The siblings are forced to pluck their dementia-addled father from his Arizona home and place him in a Medicaid nursing home.
The premise may be simple and the plot standard, but the performances of Linney and Hoffman, coupled with Jenkins’s soul–piercing dialog, raise this “tragicomedy” high above the standard set by films with similar themes.
This is no coming-of-age story, where two underachieving children learn a valuable lesson from their wizened patriarch. Instead, the Savage children learn to take responsibility for their dwindling family, even in the face of endless ingratitude. There are no Hallmark moments, no crystalline tears running down pale cheeks in soft focus. The Savages is unflinching and at times uncomfortably frank, but manages to walk the fine line between drama and comedy without falling headlong into bitterness.
One hilariously disturbing scene revolves around Lenny’s incontinent journey from Arizona to Boston. The old man, strapped Hannibal Lechter-like to a thin metal cart, is wheeled down the center aisle of the jet. Once seated, Lenny’s treacherous bowls force him down the aisle again, a trip that involves falling pants, a diaper, and a plane full of gawkers. Such broad humor sounds ripe for the Farrelly Brothers, but Jenkin’s directing adds a heart-wrenching sweetness to the sight gags, capturing the unavoidable humor of age.
But The Savages does not focus on the aging father. Lenny serves as the sun around which the stories of Wendy and Jon orbit. The story focuses on the children’s artistic and romantic struggles.
Wendy carries out an affair with an overweight, inattentive, married man while she struggles to publish her first play. Jon refuses to marry his Polish girlfriend, forcing her to move back to Europe once her Green Card expires. The imminent death of their father forces them to live under one roof and face the gaping void of parenting that nurtured their neuroses and bad decisions.
The film’s permeating theme is obvious from the title: amidst the urban setting, people are nothing more than animals, savages, fighting for survival. Whether this premise applies simply to physical survival, or survival of the human soul and spirit, may be debated, but The Savages manages to explore the ideas of many depressing philosophers without succumbing to bleak nihilism.
A central motif of animals runs through the film. Jenkins spends countless scenes on the exploits of Wendy’s cat and her married lover’s pet Labrador stars in the film’s final shot. But one of the most haunting images comes when Wendy, lying with her balding adulterer on the futon in her tiny New York apartment, surrounded by furniture and appliances and urban skyline, turns listlessly away from her lover and meets the gaze of his dog, who watches the couple having sex. The animals drooping eyes seem to bear a deep sorrow. Ignoring the man, Wendy reaches out to touch the dog’s paw, a yearnful lunge, a cry for rescue from the emotional trappings of modern humanity and escape to the guiltless existence of savages.
