(USA, 84 min.)
Dir. Gillian Robespierre, Writ. Gillian Robespierre, Karen
Main, Elizabeth Holm
Starring: Jenny Slate, Jake Lacy, Gaby
Hoffman, Gabe Liedeman, Richard Kind, Polly Draper.
“There’s nothing on but romantic comedies,” says Max (Jake
Lacy) whilst flipping through the movie listings during a sweet moment with
Donna (Jenny Slate). Donna replies that she doesn’t really care for rom-coms.
“I can’t relate to them,” she says.
Obvious Child marks a notable departure for romantic comedies. It’s the unconventional rom-com for folks like Donna who can’t relate to the artificial sweetness of the average lovey dovey chick flick. Obvious Child, for one, has substance as it tackles relevant issues with realistic awkwardness and candour. The Sundancey dinginess of the film turns down the usual high-key lighting euphoria of the rom-com, and invites the audience into the real world. Donna, a stand-up comic, casually confronts issues that most films—and people in everyday life—shy away from acknowledging in the name of convention and the status quo. Her awkward on-stage banter, which plays like equal parts truth-telling and word vomit, uses laughter to ease through the awkwardness and the bullshit to make a punchline out of the biggest joke of all: spotless tales of happily-ever-after.
Obvious Child has
spots galore, as noted by the references to (and shots of) Donna’s icky vaginal
discharge that might be a cinematic precedent. Jokes about peeing and farting
are one thing, and Obvious Child
pairs them together—on a date, no less—to help give audiences something
familiar as it peppers the humour with raunchy jokes and casual references to
things previously unmentionable. Some viewers might be taken aback by the spunky
comic’s offhand remarks about her lady parts, though, but the comedy of Obvious Child is (superficially, at
least) akin to Seth Rogen cracking jokes about boners, cum, and ball sweat.
If Obvious Child seems
shocking, it shocks only because its protagonist is a woman. This very fact
necessitates the film’s place amongst must-see summer fare. The film calls to
mind the anecdotes by Joan Rivers in the documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work in which the comic recalls her early
days of stand-up comedy and says that her gender made risqué material seem far
more taboo. However, the fine balance of raunchiness and sweetness in Obvious Child makes it a very timely
entry into the world of independent film voices in the industry are calling for
more films by women.
Obvious Child marks
a much-needed turn for romantic comedies by putting an ordinarily fallible
female character in the lead role. The aforementioned movie date between Donna
and Max, in which Max peruses the channels, marks the only scene in the film
where he’s essentially in the driver’s seat. Donna wears the pants in Obvious Child and it’s undeniably
refreshing.
Director Gillian Robespierre and fellow co-writers Karen
Main and Elizabeth Holm fashion an alternative love story grounded in
believable characters, honest dialogue, and frank attitudes towards gender and
representation. Obvious Child puts
Donna in a situation familiar to the genre, but the film tackles it in
unfamiliar ways. (Unfamiliar in the cinematic sense, anyways.) A hot drunken
night with Max (who, atypically of the dashing leading man, farts in Donna’s
face on their first date) leaves Donna pregnant, which is hardly the best turn
of events since she just lost her day job and can’t get her shit together. Baby
makes three in rom-com lore, but having a baby at this exact moment in Donna’s
life probably isn’t the best thing for Donna, Max, and, well, the baby.
Before audiences can even say Knocked Up or Juno, Donna
decides to have an abortion. What barely gets a fleeting mention in the former
comedy or serves as a dark unseen antagonist in the latter adds a serious
talking point in Obvious Child. A
baby isn’t the express route to a romantic relationship. Rather, Obvious Child uses this definitive point
in Donna’s life to reflect upon how far she has come even though her life seems
to be in disarray.
Humorous back-and-forth banter between Donna and her
roommate Nellie (an intimidating Gaby Hoffman) gives Obvious Child a positively pro-feminist chorus. Nellie insists on
putting Donna’s fate in her own hands by leaving Max out of the equation, which
somewhat muddles the message of Obvious
Child. Nellie’s anger sometimes sharpens the gender dynamic of Obvious Child into a polarized us/them
binary that threatens to undercut the importance of the film, since Nellie
frequently pits Max as an unwitting antagonist even though he pursues Donna
completely unaware that she is pregnant. Donna, however, treats Max as a
hesitant ally instead of as a foe. Robespierre conveys this dynamic strikingly
in one scene where Max visits Donna at work while she packs up a box of books
and remains seated in the box, protecting herself from Max and from the
possibility that telling him about the pregnancy could result in decisions that
strip her of her agency. The scene ends badly for Donna, though, and this
turning point in the film shows the danger in leaving things unsaid.
On the other hand, there is one sweetly telling scene in Obvious Child, perhaps the highlight of
the film, when Donna decides to reveal her pregnancy to her mother (Polly
Draper). Previous scenes with Donna’s divorced parents contrast a jovial dad
(Richard Kind) who plays and paints with puppet, and a no-nonsense mother who
makes spreadsheets to plan Donna’s life. It’s therefore understandable that
Donna might fear that her news will upset her mother; instead, Donna sheds her
pants and cuddles up with her mom under the blanket, and they share an unexpectedly
intimate moment. Robespierre frames mother and child so tightly that when Donna
starts to cry while giving the news, a hand creeps into the frame to wipe a
tear from Donna’s cheek. It’s her mother’s.
Donna’s mom takes the news with relief. “At least you’re not
moving to LA!” she replies before going on to tell Donna that she herself faced
a similar situation during her university years, but since abortions were
illegal back then, she had to truck out to Jersey and have the procedure done
on the kitchen table of a stranger. Obvious
Child presents the topic matter-of-factly and shows that the experience
allows for personal growth regardless of the option one chooses.
Obvious Child
realizes this when Donna finally decides to forgo the push-and-pull courtship
she and Max enjoy since their first night together. She decides to put the
topic out in the open and make it a laugh in a return to form performance on
the stand-up stage. Her appointment, fatefully, is scheduled for Valentine’s
Day, so Donna can’t help but laugh at the irony of her best/worst Valentine’s
Day ever. She hits her stride in the material, however, by putting out into the
open things her mother had to keep a secret. The revelation might seem unfair for Max, but Obvious Child smartly lets Donna define her fate on her terms.
The final stand-up routine is a defining moment in Slate’s
winning performance as Donna, for she uses her comedic chops to celebrate the
awkward messiness of Donna’s story. She empowers her through the frankness and
the confidence of her performance, which marks a notable turn from Donna’s
earlier stand-up scenes that range from outrageously hilarious self-deprecation
to cringe-inducing ruminations on her perceived failure. There’s an honesty to
Slate’s performance that makes the finale of Obvious Child refreshingly endearing and, above all, surprisingly relatable
for a romantic comedy.
Rating: ★★★★ (out of ★★★★★)
Obvious Child opens in theatres this July.
