Score: 5 / 5
It's a character study in bereavement. After their 4-year-old son is killed, Becca and Howie live in an isolated daze. Hoping for the return of normalcy but unable to actively seek it, they cycle through guilt, anger, and despair while continuing their damaging interactions in an otherwise sexless marriage. Becca, a previously stay-at-home mom, satisfies her craving for life by exercising indoors and gardening. Her ventures beyond the walls of her house tend to end badly, as her social skills have all but abandoned her. When Becca and Howie finally seek to expel the ghosts from their house, they fight each other's efforts and sometimes botch their own.
Add to this mess Becca's mother and her own ghosts, Becca's troubled and troublesome sister, Howie's prospect of an extramarital affair, and the reappearance of the teenage boy, Jason, who accidentally killed their son with his car, and you've just about grasped the plot. Sound brutal yet? It should.
I'm always happy to see artists continue to perfect their work, and David Lindsay-Abaire adapted this screenplay from his own Pulitzer-winning stage play. His work is distinctly recognizable by the extreme situations of the plot (though these are more often farcically bizarre than horrifically real) and by the dialogue's sheer comedy. A delicate pattern of silence, softness, and shouting emerges in Rabbit Hole, a tunnel down which echoes continually grow while seeking escape. But the final product is not a cacophony of sounds or a mournful lament; it is a melody simple, sad, and ultimately affirming.
This film retains the combination of awkward humor and devastating honesty that works so well in the play. The actors -- including Nicole Kidman, Aaron Eckhart, and Dianne Weist -- brilliantly embody the subtle rhythms of the dialogue while filling every silence with floods of sensitivity and empathy for their characters. Besides the masterful performances of these leads, Miles Teller notably delivers a heartrending performance as Jason, the guilt-ridden high schooler who provides Becca with a means to find hope again.
John Cameron Mitchell (of 2001's Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame) beautifully directs this moving film with an eye to delicate, detailed visuals. The camera becomes a brave character in itself, watching the characters in their darkest moments with a sensitive, gentle eye. Vivid colors and inventive angles emphasize the beauty and dynamic quality of life in all its complexity. Mitchell's own prowess is shown clearly in his relaxed approach to an otherwise simple story. This material calls for thematic attention, not agitated plot devices, and Mitchell provides enough warmth and simple humor to keep the film from being a weepy dirge.
In a world where people can't find the right words to say, Lindsay-Abaire finds words that reveal the human condition. In a situation that words cannot define, Mitchell demonstrates the importance of compassion for other people. This is a 90-minute exercise in humanity you won't soon forget.
It's a character study in bereavement. After their 4-year-old son is killed, Becca and Howie live in an isolated daze. Hoping for the return of normalcy but unable to actively seek it, they cycle through guilt, anger, and despair while continuing their damaging interactions in an otherwise sexless marriage. Becca, a previously stay-at-home mom, satisfies her craving for life by exercising indoors and gardening. Her ventures beyond the walls of her house tend to end badly, as her social skills have all but abandoned her. When Becca and Howie finally seek to expel the ghosts from their house, they fight each other's efforts and sometimes botch their own.
Add to this mess Becca's mother and her own ghosts, Becca's troubled and troublesome sister, Howie's prospect of an extramarital affair, and the reappearance of the teenage boy, Jason, who accidentally killed their son with his car, and you've just about grasped the plot. Sound brutal yet? It should.
I'm always happy to see artists continue to perfect their work, and David Lindsay-Abaire adapted this screenplay from his own Pulitzer-winning stage play. His work is distinctly recognizable by the extreme situations of the plot (though these are more often farcically bizarre than horrifically real) and by the dialogue's sheer comedy. A delicate pattern of silence, softness, and shouting emerges in Rabbit Hole, a tunnel down which echoes continually grow while seeking escape. But the final product is not a cacophony of sounds or a mournful lament; it is a melody simple, sad, and ultimately affirming.
This film retains the combination of awkward humor and devastating honesty that works so well in the play. The actors -- including Nicole Kidman, Aaron Eckhart, and Dianne Weist -- brilliantly embody the subtle rhythms of the dialogue while filling every silence with floods of sensitivity and empathy for their characters. Besides the masterful performances of these leads, Miles Teller notably delivers a heartrending performance as Jason, the guilt-ridden high schooler who provides Becca with a means to find hope again.
John Cameron Mitchell (of 2001's Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame) beautifully directs this moving film with an eye to delicate, detailed visuals. The camera becomes a brave character in itself, watching the characters in their darkest moments with a sensitive, gentle eye. Vivid colors and inventive angles emphasize the beauty and dynamic quality of life in all its complexity. Mitchell's own prowess is shown clearly in his relaxed approach to an otherwise simple story. This material calls for thematic attention, not agitated plot devices, and Mitchell provides enough warmth and simple humor to keep the film from being a weepy dirge.
In a world where people can't find the right words to say, Lindsay-Abaire finds words that reveal the human condition. In a situation that words cannot define, Mitchell demonstrates the importance of compassion for other people. This is a 90-minute exercise in humanity you won't soon forget.
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