Jojo Rabbit

Last year on Mark Kermode’s podcast Kermode on Film, director Taika Waititi appeared as a guest. At the end of their interview, Kermode asked him what he was currently working on. The answer was met by discomfort; Waititi commented upon how Kermode’s face resembled ‘confusion and fear and disgust and doubt. A lot of doubt.’


So what was the project? The project was Jojo Rabbit. A story set during the Second World War about a young boy in the Hitler Youth who wants to be the best Nazi. The guide on this goal is his imaginary friend, Adolf Hitler. You can now see why Kermode reacted in the way he did. Even Waititi conceded he understood people's misgivings, acknowledging the difficult subject matter was something he wouldn't have approached early on in his career. Risk though is attractive to Waititi. In the interview he confessed to enjoying going into each film ‘thinking it could be career-ending.’ 



Waititi has never played safe in his output. His background came in New Zealand independent cinema with Eagle Vs Shark, Boy, What We Do in the Shadows and Hunt For The Wilderpeople. Here, he honed his off-beat sensibility, juxtaposing tenderness and quirkiness to cult success. With festival garlands and public approbation came Hollywood. Marvel selected him to direct Thor: Ragnarok, heralded as one the funniest films in the franchise. With low and big budget movies behind him, Waititi’s mid-budget Jojo Rabbit is his most dangerous vehicle yet. One wrong move and he's Jeremy Corbyn, a gross offender of Jewish sensibilities.   

Taika Waititi

The film is not career suicide. Waititi hasn't blown his brains out. For the most part, it’s a triumph. From the off, the satire is established through scoring Hitler montages to the sound of The Beatles ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand.’ The inference being that the collective hysteria witnessed in the 60’s was seen more devastatingly in the 30’s and 40’s. Hitler was the rock star of his day. Commanding huge audiences, he whipped crowds into a frenzy. Everyone wanted to hear his song; everyone wanted to sing the tune back. The charisma masked the deplorability. 



After the up-tempo number ends, we’re into Jojo’s (Roman Griffin Davis) room where he practices his ‘Heil’ with his imaginary friend. Whipped into zealotry he’s ready for Hitler Youth camp. Here, Nazi indoctrination is satirised by Rebel Wilson’s Fraulein Rahm whose surreal warnings on Jewish behaviour and appearance is eaten up by the children. A counterpoint to this is Sam Rockwell’s Captain Klenzendorf, a teacher at the camp, whom has all the enthusiasm for pedagogy as inbetweeners Gilbert or Derry Girl’s Sister Michael. Jojo’s day takes a bad turn when one of the instructors demands he proves his devotion by killing a rabbit. Jojo has the head for Nazism, but not the heart, and can’t bring himself to do so. He responds by trying to set the rabbit free, before running away. In turn, he’s branded ‘Jojo Rabbit’ for his cowardice.

After this debacle, Jojo does his all to prove himself to Mein Fuhrer. To show that he is the best ten-year-old Nazi out there. The cartoonish Adolf (Taiki Waititi) tells Jojo to re-appropriate his nickname, turning it from a slur to an honour. A rabbit he argues is a survivor that through subterfuge and cunning avoids enemy detection. With the wind back in his sail, Jojo runs back into camp, only to incapacitate himself in a hilarious accident.


Whilst convalescing at home, Jojo hears a sound that gets his attention. Upstairs, behind a wall, lies a rabbit hole. Hiding in it is Elsa (Thomasin Mckenzie), a Jewish girl. Jojo is horrified. Through his miseducation, he’s been taught that ‘the Jew’ is the devil incarnate. They are the video nasty stuff of nightmare and curses. Monsters from the underworld, bred by Hades and Satan. The term sub-human does not even apply. There’s not a trace of human in them. They are invaders, interlopers, who require extermination. Of course, Jojo’s feelings change over time, which causes confusion in his relationship with Adolf.

Jojo and Elsa

Other than Jojo’s relationship with Adolf and Elsa is the one with his mother, Rosie. Known more for her dramatic roles, Scarlett Johansson has never been funnier. She imbues in her character a wonderful sense of warmth and wit, contrasting against the hate and lies of National Socialism. An example of this is when Jojo considers leaving the house after his injury; he doesn’t want people to laugh at his scars – his mum’s response:

Enjoy the attention, kid. Not everyone’s lucky enough to look stupid. I for one am cursed to look incredibly attractive. Now, we’re going to pluck up your courage, walk out that door, and have an incredible adventure. Okay?  

Even in the face of barbarity and violence, his mum has an artistic lightness that the ‘facts’ of Nazism cannot touch. She wants her little boy to have a free imagination, away from the power-grab of Hitler Youth camps. She fears the Fuhrer’s reach has more parental influence than her own, confiding to Elsa that 'Jojo is a fanatic. It took him three weeks to get over his grandfather was not blond’ yet she hopes and prays that underneath the fake news of Goebbels propaganda, there is a ‘a little boy who loves to play, and runs stupid because he’s scared of thunder, and thinks he invented chocolate cake.’ Her lament for innocence is Waititi’s: the film is about the loss of it, the rediscovery of it.

Johansson in fine form.

For me, the film isn’t a complete triumph though. Waititi is known for spending months editing his movies, in order to get the balance right between light and shade. In this film, he said that was particularly important. Towards the end of the picture, some of the horror is lost by the over-layering of absurdity. If he just pulled back, trusted his way with drama, this wouldn’t have been so jarring. Despite this, I had a lump in my throat for the closing moments. A different pop choice bookends the movie, and just like The Beatles proves inspired.


Jojo Rabbit has divided the critics. There’s been one and five-star reviews. Some commentators don’t feel Waititi has gone far enough with his satire, neglecting to communicate the true horror of Nazism. I feel there are those moments; it’s just Waititi could have lingered on them longer. As far as my review goes, Jojo Rabbit is a brave step by a truly original filmmaker. It’s a ‘Fuck off’ to Hitler and leaders who divide us. In a climate of hate it’s a warning against idolatry, and a reminder that sometimes cowardice is courage. It’s worth your time.


Jojo Rabbit is out in cinemas now.

Louis Theroux: Gotta Get Theroux This

Along with The Office, Louis Thereoux’s Weird Weekends was my favourite programme as a teenager. In fact, I think Louis might be the first DVD I ever bought. Up until that point, I thought documentaries had to be super-serious with a focus on facts and archive footage. The only ones I saw were in class, typically on Hitler or the role of enzymes in bread making. (Food Tech teachers were big fans of educational videos.) It wasn’t until Theroux that I realised docs could be entertaining and involving.


The engagement came from the presenter and the format. Each episode involved Louis exploring a different sub-culture with a view to adding extra dimensions to our understanding. Theroux’s approach to this examination was what really sold the show though. Appearing like a +1 at a wedding, Louis would shuffle into these worlds, seeming embarrassed there. For a TV personality, he was refreshingly ordinary. His grounded nature meant people felt able to open up to him. Just as Nick Carraway has the ear of Jay Gatsby, Theroux’s quietness meant his subjects fill the space with talk. Talk that is often revelatory. For all the bumbling schtick, Theroux’s mind worked in fluent formation, allowing him to gain trust quickly; a prerequisite for investigative journalism. ‘Confidence trick’ seems like a misnomer for someone who doesn't shout confidence, yet the term is apposite:Theroux’s very lack of confidence is the thing that allows him to make off with the spoils. It was only on watching the documentary that his subjects probably realised they’d underestimated him.

Theroux has remained in documentaries ever since, yet his approach has changed from his humble beginnings. After Weird Weekends Theroux moved into celebrity study, observing the perverse creatures in their natural habitat, sometimes even taking residency with them. After this, he changed focus and honed in on law and order, seeking to work out the causes and consequences of incarceration. The tone of the shows have become darker, a necessity given how the subject matter has too. Theroux’s work is less wacky and salacious now, looking instead at what others turn away from: alcoholism, dementia and anorexia. These topics are less fun and frothy, which is why they require journalistic rigor; if they’re ignored our empathy is at risk. To care for someone is to understand them. If you never see these lives, then reductive stereotypes persist.


This week I’ve been reading Louis Theroux’s memoir Gotta Get Theroux This. Within it, Theroux describes himself as a nervy teenager, lacking the hutzpah of his peers. After Westminster School he went to Oxford University.  Instead of sowing his wild oats, Theroux worked hard to get a First-Class degree. With his mum at the BBC and his dad a travel writer, achievement was in his family, something at times Louis wished he could avoid, settle for care-free mediocrity, but the need of success was in him.


After university he wanted to go out alone. By blood, he was happy to be allied with his parents, but not by career. He took a punt and went to work on a San Jose newspaper. The way Theroux describes it makes the decision sound more like a Dave Gorman adventure than a thought-out plan. It was here though that he learnt how to be a journalist, and where he would eventually gain the recommendation that would take him to Spy magazine, America’s answer to Private Eye. Although the periodical was in decline, it gave Theroux a taste for comedy, a genre that he seriously considered going into. The comedy bug disseminated around the body further when he was picked up by Michael Moore to perform political pranks on TV Nation, a precursor to Sacha Baron Cohen.

Part-funded by the BBC, Auntie liked what they saw and signed him up for his own documentary series. Going from a supporting artist to leading man was a frightening induction, one Theroux admits to being nervous over. Through the expert advice of producers and crew though, he grew in confidence and became an award-winning broadcaster. In this world of ‘talent’ and individualism, the team is often neglected. Theroux is at pains to state that he often feels embarrassed when he is garlanded, as though he has done all the work. In fact, you learn in his memoir that a lot of work takes place before Theroux arrives ‘on set.’ His teams recce a subject first to find out whether it is going to be worth an hour-long documentary; they’re also there to fight his corner with commissioners and support him during the shoot.


There is one illuminating anecdote he tells us about a recce his team took to Jimmy Savile, prior to Theroux interviewing him. When Savile showed them around his home, he described the bedroom as ‘the altar,’ explaining ‘that’s where the sacrifices happen.’ When Louis turned up and Savile took him around, Saville again said it was called ‘the altar,’ but because it was his peaceful place. The recce allows his team to determine the worth in a documentary; it also can prove insightful when comparing the answers off-camera to those on-camera.


In terms of Savile, Theroux re-visits his ghost throughout the book. At one point Louis describes their relationship as mutually parasitical: Savile needed Louis to jump-start his career; Louis needed Savile because he was good copy. Although Louis did challenge Savile on allegations of paedophilia, the DJ talked himself out of the noose. By cultivating a persona that was so outlandish, it made him difficult to pin down. If you keep on being ridiculous, people won’t judge you by normal standards; you change the bar, so you’re judged by your own.

The part I really loved about this book was Theroux’s meditation on storytelling. Documentaries, you think, should be antithetical to this: they should report fact and be true to the rhythms of life. However, anything that is for public consumption has to be engaging; therefore tension, conflict and journey are imperative. Theroux talks about this candidly, admitting the times when he failed to build towards a satisfying conclusion. He’s also honest about himself, conceding the times when he’d been selfish and distant with his own family.


Theroux has made a living out of putting other people’s lives under the microscope; he is as adept with his own, making Gotta Get Theroux This an ironic title. The book is never a chore to endure; it is an illuminating account of a life spent understanding others. As Atticus says in To Kill A Mockingbird, ‘You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view – until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.’ Here, Theroux does for us, what he does to others: we climb in and appreciate him even more.


Gotta Get Theroux This is available in all good bookshops.

A Very John Kearns Christmas

In getting married this year, we felt it right that we spend Christmas Day together. In previous years we’d exchanged presents in the morning and then went off to our respective families. After much toing and froing, argument and counter, rhetoric of the highest order, my parents won through and it was agreed that I would spend Christmas with my in-laws. (I’m too funny for my own good sometimes.)


Having been together for six years, I’ve enjoyed many a hot dinner with her family. But a Christmas meal is different. The routine, traditions and choices are completely idiosyncratic: some have passed through generations for centuries, as old as surnames. My family is small so present unwrapping doesn’t take very long: the youngest opens first, then it goes round in circles until the recylce bag calls a halt. The Girl has a bigger extended family so their approach is more free-form Jazz with no imposed structure and an improvisational quality to proceedings. At my house you’re onto the main course straightaway: a dinner so mountainous that Ranulph Fiennes would have second thoughts. At her house there was a starter to ease your course, a float down the Nile before the Pyramids. What was similar though were the crackers across crossed arms, lame jokes and carousing. It was a lovely day and I appreciate how lucky I am to say that.

Contemplating my mum's Christmas dinner.

One thing that I circled my Radio Times for, but didn’t listen to on the day - because of the all eating - was A Very John Kearns Christmas. I first saw John Kearns in Edinburgh 2014 where I was fortunate to get in. I was lucky because Kearns was the talk of the town. The previous year he won Best Newcomer for Sight Gags for Perverts and there was industry talk that he was going to go one better and win Best Show for Schtick (he did). With his elevated standing, Kearns could have been in a bigger room, but because of the nature of his character he opted to stay on the Free Fringe, thence the queue to see him. I really enjoyed the show, but it wasn’t what I expected. I had read a few reviews so I knew it wasn’t going to be big gestured, radio mic stand-up. However, I didn’t know it would have more in common with Tony Hancock and Alan Bennett. It took me a while to settle into the wry rhythms; by the time I did I was charmed. I’ve been following his career ever since, particularly enjoying his 2015 Radio 4 series.


John Kearns is the creation of John Kearns. Before winning Best Newcomer he wondered whether he would ever make it. Like many comedians, he tried on many hats, attempting stand-up in different ways, with none making great waves. In 2012 at a charity fundraiser he donned a badly fitted wig and fake teeth; in doing so, he found his voice and character. This costuming is explained by Kearns in a Sunday Post interview, ‘With stand-up so many go on, and everyone is a lie, everyone’s wearing a mask.’ John Bishop might appear an everyman, yet he writes those routines in a mansion. Every comedian is playing a character, amplifying certain things, playing down others; it’s just some literally put on clothes to make the lie more apparent.

Kearns' seasonal special is framed around the idea of writing to an absent friend at Christmas, updating them on what’s passed and what’s to come. It opens with the postman bringing the post; after a few doorstep pleasantries, Kearns slams the latch, complaining, ‘A postman with gloves - it ain’t right. I mean what postie don’t like the feel of paper.’ The John Kearns character is a traditionalist, a nostalgist that likes things just so. When he sits down to write his missive, he deliberates on how to begin. It’s a rumination that culminates in him using ‘hark’ - after all, ‘Hark, ‘tis, you’ve got to use these words in December.'


Kearns is a man that knows language. As a former guide in the House of Commons, he was at the centre of discourse; his skill as a linguist is evident in this work. He describes a tacky gift from a neighbor taking pride and place in his parents' living room: ‘Imagine getting this and then imagine keeping it.’ Later, he talks about his family meal, describing how the cheese was so strong it ‘started asking people outside for a fight’ and how the Christmas Pud is ‘doused in Athenian brandy.’ Kearns is a details man; he doesn’t deal in the broad brushstrokes of arena comedy, favouring the minutiae of people, places and things.

John Kearns

Alongside the pinpoint description there are wonderful flights of fancy. The preparation for the Christmas meal is described with all the urgency of an Embassy siege; there’s codenames, radios, people in position, setbacks and crises before news gets through that everything’s ok. Later, Kearns muses on how Raymond Briggs’ had the biggest impression on how he perceived Santa. From there, Kearns imagines being Santa’s wingman, soaring across the sky, recommending service stations in the clouds, only this time it’s not Reading on the M4 with M&S and Arlo’s Pantry and Kitchen, but the make-believe Viking that has a Farmers Market, replete with local cheeses and 'weird bread.’ This surreal episode best sums up Kearns’ craft: he takes a humdrum topic like motorway stops and invests in them something magical, putting an extraordinary twist on the ordinary.


Interspersed throughout Kearns’ account are genuine recordings from his family Christmas where his mum talks Mass, his dad cracker jokes and his gran fish and chips. What most families talk about isn’t profound, but it doesn’t make it any less important. Our silly habits, traditions and in-jokes are what tie us all together. Kearns recognises this and celebrates it. A Very John Kearns Christmas is very John Kearns indeed: few comics could capture a special time in such a way.


A Very John Kearns Christmas is available on BBC Sounds.

Reasons to be Cheerful 2019 list

1.     That lady on the front step, in her dressing gown, eating a Calippo on a cold December morning.

2.     The Priest’s speech about love in Fleabag.

3.     Leslie Manville and Peter Mullan in Mum.

4.     The third series of Glow was seriously good.

5.     End of the Fucking World ended brilliantly.

6.     Noticing the Watford FC references in Rocketman.

7.     Spotting symbolism in movies. (I know this is geeky but it’s the satisfying pursuit of an English teacher.)

8.     I don’t really get gifts as an English teacher. This Xmas though a Year 11 lad waited behind to give me a box of chocolates. It was a really nice thing.

9.     We have a buddy system at work where staff are matched up and put a gift in each other’s pigeonholes from time to time. A few weeks ago, I was gifted the Christmas Radio Times – it’s one of the best presents I could have got.

10.  In the same way, a few months previous, I was given a book about comedy writing. To get someone a gift that shows you really know them is a boon.

11.  I’m managed by people I admire.

12.  I work in a team of intelligent, funny, caring people.

13.  I feel valued and respected at work.

14.  I’ve had to do three big speeches this year: one for my mum, one for my wife and one for a friend. Despite botching a few lines, I was happy with how all of them went.

15.  The time The Girl’s mates put into her Hen Do.

16.  My brother organising the kind of Stag I wanted: original fancy dress, crazy golf, pubs, brewery and Indie disco.

17.  My brother’s best man speech. Just the right level of roast: not under or overdone – cooked just right.

18.  Clea singing ‘Your Song’ during the service.

19.  Walking hand in hand down the aisle to ‘Boom Bang-A-Bang’ and smiling so much it hurt.

20.  I married into a good family. You won’t hear Les Dawson mother-in-law jokes from me. Unless the mother-in-law joke’s set-up is, ‘My mother-in-law does a fantastic buffet’ and there’s no punch-line.

21.  My family playing football with her family in the pub garden.

22.  The time and expense our families gave to be at our wedding.

23.  Dec doing a great job with sound for the bridal entry and the disco.

24.  My playlist was a triumph - apart from my Madonna and Elton choices. (In hindsight I chose the wrong singles.)

25.  The mass circle of Liam Gallagher impersonators. ‘YOU’RE MY WONDERWALL!’

26.  The work the staff put into making our wedding day run so seamlessly.

27.  Our photos of the day that we’ll treasure.

28.  My mum having a lovely 60^th birthday.

29.  My dad being recognised for his voluntary work.

30.  My brother travelling the world working for FIFA.

31.  All my mates that have had a baby.

32.  Jonnie getting a job he wants.

33.  Experiencing Business Class for the one and only time.

34.  Those first few hours of the summer holiday where you feel like you’ve retired and the alarm clock won't ever go off.

35.  Drinking by the pool.

36.  Seeing the hotel from Some Like It Hot.

37.  Going to Warner Bros. Studios.

38.  Seeing the Hollywood sign close up.

39.  My brother’s kindness in calling an LA restaurant to organise a bottle of fizz.

40.  The octogenarian waiter who brought us a compimentary glass of champers and said, ‘Welcome to paradise.’

41.  Travelling on the AmTrak train and watching the landscape unspool.

42.  Cycling across the Golden Gate Bridge, even if my ability on two wheels rendered the experience hairy.

43.  Doing the walking tour of Alcatraz.

44.  Our cabin in the woods.

45.  Having a BBQ each night whilst staying in Wawona.

46.  The awe and wonder of Yosemite.

47.  The hospitality of the West Coast.

48.  The seafood in Seattle.

49.  My beer paddle in the brewery.

50.  The theatre show of Pike Place Market.

51.  Returning from a food shop to find two pregnancy kits on the worktop with The Girl’s face an excitable O.

52.  Having that first scan and feeling reassured that things were ok.

53.  My school debate team learning they can hold their own with schools seen as ‘better’ and ‘more academic.’

54.  Finding the perfect cereal.

55.  I’ve enjoyed venturing into pork pie lunches.

56.  A meal at Dishoom.

57.  Any meal out to be honest.

58.  Learning about classic Hollywood.

59.  That bookshop in Paris was an Aladdin’s cave.

60.  Grayson Perry on Richard Herring’s podcast.

61.  Heavyweight is a great podcast that few people talk about.

62.  My brother’s book getting released.

63.  Three Identical Strangers was one of my films of the year. What a story!

64.  It’s been a great year for sitcom: Home, Partridge, Mum, Stath, This Way Up.

65.  I still get so excited about things. The thought of reading something, watching something, listening to something. As long as you’re looking forward to something, then everything is alright.

66.  Some of my really old blogs getting extra views. I don’t know who is clicking on them, but it’s nice to know they’re being read.

67.  Stewart Lee is the best out there: he can do silly as well as cerebral.

68.  I’ve organised a night where I’m going to read some stories I wrote. February 17^th. More details to follow.

69.  The poster for the show. Serdar did a great job on it.

70.  The Girl feeling better in her second trimester than she did the first.

71.  Glenda Jackson was phenomenal in Elizabeth is Missing.

72.  Listening to Kermode and Mayo in the car with the good lady.

73.  Running on a sunny winter’s day.

74.  77,000 at Wembley for women’s football.

75.  That Deulofeu goal in the semi-final.

76.  Troy Deeney slamming that ball in.

77.  Seeing the yellow, black and red on cup final day.

78.  Watford beating Man U at the weekend. In Pearson we trust.

79.  Reading students answers and thinking, ‘Ooh, I never thought of that.’

80.  My Saturday afternoons where I sit there with a cup of tea, football scores in the background, and write about something I liked that week. Lovely stuff!

81.  Despite winning, Boris Johnson has been found out. He can’t hide behind that clown make-up any longer. People know he’s a buffoon; it’s just he had a good slogan that resonated.

82.  I like watching The Crown and learning about different Prime Ministers.

83.  The pub quiz in Berkhamsted was great. A picture round, quick transitions, fish and chips at the interval and the collection money going to charity. Sweets for the Top 3. A perfect format.

84.  Stephen Graham on Desert Island Discs. A great bloke!

85.  The times in my classroom where I feel completely myself.

86.  Clapping in the cinema.

87.  Standing ovations in the theatre.

88.  I live with someone who regularly makes me laugh.

89.  The occasions where I write a sentence and it feels balanced. Like the clauses are dancing.

90.  Twitter has been good for me. A few times this year I’ve had nice correspondence with some of my favourite writers.

91.  The morale at work is good. People are fun, friendly and supportive.

92.  Although I’ve cut down on caffeine, I like the buzz it gives me. Temporarily, it speeds up my mouth and brain. I feel more talkative and creative. Like booze does when you’re in that sweet zone between sobriety and smashed potato.

93.  Running over The Downs when the weather is just right.

94.  Dashing across the seafront to get to the pub to watch Stokes save the series.

95.  Super over!

96.  Katarina Johnson-Thompson winning gold.

97.  Going to Fopp.

98.  Having a browse in a book shop.

99.  I’m drinking for two.

100.        A baby is coming.

Marriage Story

Somebody, need me too much
Somebody, know me too well
Somebody, pull me up short
And put me through hell
And give me support
For being alive
Make me alive
Make me alive

(Stephen Sondheim, Company)


Two of Sondheim’s songs feature in Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story. Sondheim’s musical is a rumination on marriage: the pros and cons, the joys and tribulations. Baumbach’s is similar: despite featuring embittered characters contesting a bitter divorce, this isn’t a bitter movie.


The characters are Charlie (Adam Driver) and Nicole Barber (Scarlett Johansson). He is a theatre and company director; she, his leading lady. Neither came from New York; both have set up home there. 


In a tender opening, Charlie’s voice-over begins: ‘What I love about Nicole …’ What follows is a rhapsodic eulogy. Compliments include, ‘She’s always inexplicably brewing a cup of tea that she doesn’t drink’ and ‘She always says when she doesn’t know something or hasn’t read a book or seen a film or a play (whereas I fake it or say something like, ‘I haven’t seen it in a while.’). 


Nicole then returns to the paean, listing such things as, ‘Charlie eats like he’s trying to get it over with and like there won’t be enough food for everyone’ and ‘He loves being a dad, he loves all the things you’re supposed to hate, like the tantrums, the waking up in the night.’

However, the rug is pulled from under us when it’s revealed these words have been written for mediation. These love letters aren’t the effusive outpourings of sweethearts; they are a homework task set by a counsellor to remind each other what they once liked about the other. Unfortunately, Nicole can’t bring herself to say the words aloud. Rationally, she knows voicing them will begin the healing process, but her feelings are too raw for bridge building. Charlie feels able to do so. Maybe his role of director gives him the forensic detachment to be outside of himself and deliver the lines without being in them. The counsellor nods his approval. Nicole feels the patriarchy has aligned against her and walks out.


From here, Nicole takes their son Henry with her to Los Angeles. Her family are from there and her new work too. For the first time in years she is going it alone, starring in a television pilot. Charlie, a theatre man, can’t hide his contempt, commenting on how he can’t judge TV because he doesn’t watch it (the TV is on in the background). Theatre/television isn’t the only dichotomy here; LA and New York is another; old and new money too. Nicole’s parents were in the entertainment industry; Charlie's in the volatile drinking racket. For Charlie the theatre represents the collective, any money you make should be put back in; for Nicole acting is cut-throat, casting calls and rejection- you have to put yourself first. To pigeonhole Nicole as a selfish capitalist and Charlie a selfless socialist would be reductive though. When Nicole meets her lawyers, she confesses how she saw herself shrinking under Charlie’s ‘genius.’ As a younger woman, she gave up her first shot of stardom to work with him in NY theatre. Just as in work, she felt as though she ceded her life to him, having him direct their marriage. When she said about moving back to LA, she wasn’t listened to. Being the actress, she couldn’t give the notes, only take them.

Emotional tug of war.

The two want an amicable divorce. Less bitter wrangling, more conscious uncoupling. They are from the arts and have no desire to be cast in a legal drama. However when Nicole is advised to hire a lawyer (Laura Dern), Charlie responds by finding his own. Initially he baulks at enlisting Jay (Ray Liotta), finding him abrasive. Instead he favours Bert (Alan Alda) who understands the human cost of court room battles. Wise and worn, Bert offers the dictum, ‘Criminal lawyers see bad people behaving at their best, while divorce lawyers see good people behaving at their worst.’ Given how the film unfolds, the words are prophetic. 


What makes this a terrific film though is how even-handed it is. Baumbach has been through divorce himself, and could have directed this from a male perspective with Charlie getting a better deal than Nicole. This would have made the film a harder watch and a less nuanced one. By feeling for both, we don’t root for either. Divorce isn’t cut and dry. Sometimes there aren’t heroes and villains. The person who had the affair might have been mistreated. The person who walked out may have spent a lifetime behind domestic bars. Some couples are tested more than others. You don’t necessarily have the greatest marriage because you’ve never had a row, you might just be lucky and never had a death, a crisis, a dilemma to contend with. Baumbach gives these characters dignity, even when they're being undignified.


A special mention to the score by Randy Newman. Handling a 40-piece chamber orchestra requires a special talent. The opening minutes are a nod to Woody Allen’s Manhattan with voice-over, New York and romanticism all featuring. As Gershwin’s Rhapsody In Blue did for that, Newman does for this. With Sondheim numbers featuring, you have a film that features two of America’s greatest songwriters. 

Marriage Story is the story of many marriages. All of them begin in happiness, but many end in the reverse. It’s a seismic chapter too frequently ignored by filmmakers. They want love stories depicting happy-ever-afters. Unlike lawyers, Hollywood doesn't find divorce as lucrative. Baumbach has been brave in his subject matter. He has shown the brittle, brutal battle of divorce, but done it with a sense of beauty. The combatants are so often reluctant fighters, fighting out of lost love, as opposed to fiery hate. It’s a story worth telling; a story worth seeing.



Marriage Story is on Netflix.