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The Squid and the Whale
(2005) Samuel Goldwyn Films, 1 hr. 22 mins.
Starring:
Jeff Daniels, Laura Linney, Owen Kline, Jesse Eisenberg, Anna Paquin,
William Baldwin
Directed by:
Noah Baumbach |
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In measuring the various degrees of
a dysfunctional family at the edge of psychological despair, there’s
naturally an underlying explosiveness that reveals itself as sardonically
telling. In writer-director Noah Baumbach’s compelling coming-of-age
portrait of stark domesticity, The Squid and the Whale is ruthlessly savvy
as an introspective showcase of self-reflection. While channeling between
the harsh cusps of humor and tragedy, Baumbach has devised a transitional
and toxic tale of familial angst that’s honest, sobering and incessantly
inquisitive.
Family-oriented melodramas are a tricky genre to spearhead because the
inherent risks of crafting such an overused genre have the tendency to
fall between the predictable cracks of melancholy moodiness and the
obligatory canvases of self-inflicting clichés. But Baumbach’s shrewdly
observational narrative has the right balance of breezy sweetness and
off-kilter cynicism to energize this cautionary story about a
deteriorating family unit on the brink of a brutal emotional collapse.
Sharply wry and unapologetic in the fully realized look at
marital/parental pressure, The Squid and the Whale is hauntingly poignant
and profound.
The setting takes place in 1986 in the venue of Park Slope, Brooklyn where
the Berkmans currently lead a chaotic existence. Bernard (Jeff Daniels)
and Joan (Laura Linney) are in the middle of getting a divorce. Their
sons, 16-year old Walt (Jesse Eisenberg) and 12-year old Frank (Owen
Kline), are wasting away on the sidelines forced to endure the lingering
turmoil that permeates between their wounded parents. There’s a convincing
amount of uncertainty and anxiety that hovers over the bewildered heads of
the Berkman clan. As much as Bernard and Joan try to reassure their boys
that things won’t dramatically change too much, the conviction of their
promises sound shaky at best.
To grasp the on-going tension of the Berkmans is to know what makes them
tick inside. Writer Joan has the best of intentions when it comes to her
children. However, it doesn’t stop her from playing marital affair-related
footsies with Frank’s blowhard of a tennis coach (William Baldwin). But
Bernard isn’t exactly a perfect prototype of a stable breadwinner either.
Saturated with an unctuous sense of desired pomposity that clouds his
treasured vanity, Bernard is a literature professor/author who wallows in
the past accomplishments of his overachieving intellectualism.
Desperately, Bernard holds on to his fleeting glory as a prized bookworm
whose better days have become nostalgically irrelevant. Nevertheless,
Bernard has a high opinion of himself and his PhD-sized ego needs constant
stroking. Plus, Bernard has his own main squeeze on the side—he enjoys the
intimate company of an incredibly young female student (Anna Paquin) who
eventually shacks up with him at his residence.
Whatever continual static that the boys are experiencing with their folks,
they find themselves divided by loyalty. Granted, they love both their
parents but the strain is on to convey their partial preferences. Walt is
devoted to his seriously flawed but gifted father and can never find fault
in worshiping him beyond belief. Frank, on the other hand, slightly favors
his mother Joan and he feels her vulnerability and yearns for her motherly
instincts. Sadly, the tormented adults are pitting the kids against each
other and the rift amongst the group plays like an impish firecracker
assuming the velocity of an awakening volcano.
While the separation is deemed as erratically hostile, the growing pains
of the Berkman boys are going largely ignored. The splitting of Bernard
and Joan definitely has a dubious impact on the development of their
offspring’s indelible psyche. Walt is struggling with his hormonal surges
concerning the opposite sex. As for Frank, he finds the comforts of
masturbation quite rewarding in its convenience. As this fledging family
falls apart and the core of security is ripped open to its weary last
breath, Bernard insists on disappearing in the silent rage of his
narcissistic numbness. Everyone is internally and externally bleeding in a
figurative and literal manner. The sheer arrogance and aimlessness of
these scholarly but scarred grownups are too overwhelming to contemplate
with immediate resolution. And the wayward charges—along for the
unsettling ride—are the unwilling guinea pigs in an unkind experiment that
has gone awry.
What filmmaker Baumbach has concocted is a skillfully crafted
semi-autobiographical account of his memorable dealings with his parents’
split and the colorful backlash that inspired such an unsparing
reminiscence. The Squid and the Whale is about an assortment of different
worlds clashing while creating a collage of conflict as an analogy for
humanistic evolvement. This soul-searching exposition reminds us that
life’s guarantees are never quite smooth or steady as a given blueprint.
Hence, there’s a perpetual seesaw for change that is subtle and ominous or
obvious and unpredictable. In Baumbach’s visionary camera eye, futile
human behavior and the dire consequences that it brings to the forefront
can be either empowering or crippling depending on the constitution of the
family dynamics.
Enthusiastically, Baumbach parades around a bunch of lost souls victimized
by their brilliance, selfishness, glibness, agony, ambivalence,
immorality, self-doubt, creativity and resentment. More important are the
exquisite mental tug-of-war that Baumbach demonstrates--his problematic
protagonists constantly seeking the elusive reassurance planted firmly in
the cocoon of their disillusionment.
As the self-absorbed academic “know-it-all”, Daniels delivers an enriching
and complex performance as an empty man looking to save face in both his
personal and professional livelihood. Interestingly, the faulty Bernard
Berkman is the juicier extension of Daniels’ Terms of Endearment
characterization Flap Horton—a capable but quietly complicated individual
who’s guided by his inability to commit to his pending responsibilities.
Trapped behind a scraggly hairy face and indecisive eyes, Daniels’
portrait of an insufferable sad sack playing second fiddle to his inner
demons is something worthy of well-deserved Oscar-related talk for his
tremendous on-screen efforts. And Linney is transfixing as the compromised
woman out on the limb confronting the raw obstacles that challenge her
doomed marriage and fragile positioning of motherhood. Both Eisenberg and
Kline effectively typify the strife of the sympathetic kids caught up in
the middle of the domestic crossfire. |
