Squid and the Whale, The (2005)

So rarely does a film say so much, so genuinely, through simple, naturalistic dialogue about its characters, their plights, and their story. Seldom is a story told so beautifully, so painfully and so honestly, without being manipulative or obvious. The Squid and the Whale is that unique exception--that kind of film where you walk away feeling lucky and fortunate for having seen it. This is a film about relationships--ranging from the influences our most intimate relationships have on us and the lengths we will go to maintain those relationships, to the difficulties experienced when trying to establish new ones.

 

Popcorn

87%

The setting for this exploration is the newly-broken home of the Berkman family in 1980’s Brooklyn. We know from the moment we see the Berkmans, as they play a doubles tennis game with passive-aggressive unrest, that they’re all playing a losing game. Bernard and Joan Berkman (Jeff Daniels and Laura Linney) have been together for nearly 15 years and had two children, Frank and Walt, during the course of their marriage, both in different stages of adolescence. As their relationship is at the point of dissolution, the focus is placed on the children’s struggle to contextualize and understand their new joint-custody lives. Bernard and Joan are left to discover a more significant relationship with each other, a concept that has long-since disappeared as their marital problems began to monopolize their attentions. As Bernard Berkman, Jeff Daniels is superbly understated. As a once-acclaimed author whose successful past work has stumped him from producing anything new or of worth, Bernard is entirely baffled as to why he has found himself excommunicated from his home and living in a beat-up house on the other side of the park. Daniels carries himself with pride and pomposity, never allowing any hint of remorse or reevaluation to show in his eyes. The rousing performance is both brave and fresh; I felt as if I had seen a whole new dynamic to Daniels’ abilities. Bernard’s arrogance becomes all the more sad and contemptible when his eldest son, Frank, is seen emulating his father’s ideals on topics as diverse as literature and women. Like his father, Frank only appreciates high art, carelessly dismissing anything that his father does not deem worthy, despite having no formal knowledge of the art he praises. His opinions become hollow regurgitations that serve only to give himself the appearance of being more cultured than he truly is. He knows very much about very little. Like his father, he believes himself to be far more important than he is, causing him to view his relationships with women as interchangeable, depending on what opportunity presents itself and believing a woman’s purpose to be solely that of serving his own needs.

 

Smarts

94%

Frank’s relationship with his mother, Joan, is almost entirely severed after the separation. The blame needs to be placed somewhere and, as it was Mom’s decision, this seems to be the best place to put it. Besides, what could possibly make her think she would know what’s better for their family than Bernard would? Joan’s presence is sparse and selfish, leaving Linney’s talents underused. Baumbach, pulling double duty as screenwriter, practically writes her character out of the story. Her career as an author is emerging, and her sexuality and self-discovery burgeoning. Her character is more relevant in absence, leaving the men to fend for themselves. This absence has the most impact on the youngest son, Walt, who is just entering his teens. With Frank constantly feeding his father’s ego, Walt is almost useless to Bernard, leaving him to his own devices. With little supervision or guidance, Walt feels his way through most situations, often making decisions that alienate him from society. This causes him to become reclusive and withdrawn, while he naively participates in increasingly destructive behavior. It is too easy to dismiss Walt as a lost cause in response to his behavior, as he is the only character who does not fear the future, even though he does not necessarily understand all of it.

 

Final

Baumbach’s quiet masterpiece is the filet of the broken-family genre. By demonstrating the effects of parents struggling to remain involved and not forgotten, as well as reasonably putting themselves before their children, Baumbach shows how the Berkmans' selfishness leads directly to the children’s scrambling to regain balance. That their selfishness is both warranted and understandable is what leads The Squid and the Whale to be the most levelheaded and pertinent film dealing with divorce I’ve ever seen.