Rated PG-13 for mature thematic material, language and some drug use
Cast: Nicole Kidman, Aaron Eckhart, Dianne Wiest, Miles Teller, Tammy Blanchard
Director: John Cameron Mitchell
The husband never misses a day from his job, maintains a healthy social rapport with his friends and colleagues, exercises daily... but stays up late at night in the emotional confines of the living room, watches cell phone video of his four-year-old son.
The wife works tirelessly around the house, spends a copious amount of time perfecting the appearance of her garden. Although she does spend a chunk of her alone time trailing a school bus, awaiting a youth's disembarkment. He was the unfortunate soul behind the wheel when her little boy was struck and killed mere months ago. She isn't overcome with anger. Looks more curious. Needs a connection of some sort.
They have lost a child. "Rabbit Hole" is a movie about grief, though not so much about overcoming it. It's too intelligent and perceptive for that. If there is a resolution here, it's more in the accepting of their fate in a manner that allows them to maintain an acceptable lifestyle. Seldom do we see a movie where the final verbal exchange includes: "Then what?" followed by: "I don't know. Something."
The struggle to get there is a colossal one. The film is set eight months after their son's accident. (He chased his dog into the street, was hit by a car.) That time frame is crucial to the story. It marks what the husband Howie (Aaron Eckhart) seems to think should be some sort of turning point. Trying to have another child, perhaps? The wife Becca (Nicole Kidman) isn't ready. They do, however, strive to keep up appearances, including attending a nightly bereavement group. Becca tries accompanying Howie, but the piousness of the other members weighs too heavily on her secular side. (After listening to platitudes like "God took our little daughter 'cause He needed another angel," Becca jumps in. "So why didn't He just make another angel. I mean, He is God, after all. Right? Just putting it out there.")
We learn Becca has experienced previous loss in her life. Her drug-addicted brother died eleven years ago, leading to a somewhat strained relationship with her mother (Dianne Wiest), who consistently imparts unwanted bits of advice to her daughter. Her brother's self-destruction also contributes to Becca's loving-yet-tricky relationship with her a-little-too-free-spirit sister (Tammy Blanchard), now pregnant with her first child.
Strangely, the only solace Becca receives is from afternoons sitting on a park bench with Jason (Miles Tenner), the young man behind the wheel when little Danny was hit. Becca and Jason are kind to one another. They need these quiet moments to deal with the circumstances, even though they only discuss it sporadically. "I want you to know that the speed limit was thirty, but I may have been going thirty-one or thirty-two," the boy confesses, straining to keep his voice crack-free. "If I see myself going too fast, I usually slow down." Your heart aches for this kid.
Howie continues to attend the support group meetings, and becomes close with another member... a kind, recently-separated woman named Gaby (Sandra Oh). His struggles at home give rise to the possibility of an extramarital affair with his new friend, but changes his mind at the last minute. A lost soul fighting for her own sense of inner-peace, Gaby is a decent woman. Her reaction to his change of heart is interesting... she opens herself up to the possibility of a physical connection to Howie, yet remains open enough to understand his reasons for not going through with it.
The screenplay is by David Lindsay-Abaire, based upon his stage play. Remarkably, director John Cameron Mitchell ("Hedwig and the Angry Inch") has somehow created a film that doesn't feel at all confined the way most stage-play-to-movie conversions do. The narrative landscape isn't dotted with grandiloquent speeches common in stage productions. Instead, there's a fluidity to the story that imbues the viewer with a slice-of-life feel while maintaining the palpability of the emotional tension between the couple.
Mitchell also manages to not paint the story outlines with an overly-melancholic brush. He and screenwriter Lindsay-Abaire are able to grasp a surprising amount of humor from the situation. I liked the exchange when Becca's mother recalls an inexhaustible family friend who would spend her entire afternoons in her presence, offering to "share her grief." "Share my grief?" her mom recalls thinking. "She'd plant her fat ass in my kitchen chair, eat all my cinnamon rolls, drink my coffee, then leave. Where was this alleged 'grief' she was supposed to be taking with her?"
I don't know what it's like to lose a loved one in such a manner. And I haven't a clue how close a representation of loss this film is. But I admired its ability to convey the notion that grief, while never able to be overcome, does come embedded with a reminder of one's capacity for unbridled love with no conditions. The description of loss that resonated most with me came from Becca's mother, when asked if the grief ever ends...
"No. Not really. It's something you learn to live with. Even something you can occasionally crawl out from under. You carry it with you, like a brick in your pocket. You even manage to forget it for a short time. Then you reach in there for something and...
... oh, right. That."
* * * 1/2 out of * * * * stars
