|
Alone Together
‘We Don’t Live Here Anymore’ delivers blissful guilt
by Clint Casey
Movies don’t make a particularly good argument for marriage. Love for sure, but not marriage. Or maybe it’s just that marital bliss is dull. Romantic films generally end on the upswing, leaving the rest up for speculation. We Don’t Live Here Anymore furthers the idea that marriage is a lifeless institution, and excitement lurks around some other corner.
The film opens with a dinner party hosted by Jack Linden (Mark Ruffalo) and Terry Linden (Laura Dern), attended by Hank Evans (Peter Krause) and Edith Evans (Naomi Watts). When supplies run low, Jack and Edith make a trip to the store, immediately launching their extramarital affair. Terry is suspicious of their relationship and confronts her husband in a drunken rage. Jack denies the affair, blaming her impaired state for her accusations.
As the story unfolds, Jack and Hank are revealed to be best friends. Jack and Terry have a daughter and son; Hank and Edith have a daughter. The husbands are college professors—Jack, a literature teacher, and Hank, a creative writing professor and sometime novelist. As colleagues, friends and running partners, they discuss their lives and spouses, concerns and complaints. Similarly, Terry and Edith both take care of their children and houses full-time.
Seemingly oblivious to the ongoing affair between Jack and Edith, Hank enjoys the time his wife is away during the rendezvous, taking advantage of the opportunity to write. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Terry is slowly driven to madness. Rightly paranoid about her husband’s activities, she begins to clean and drink compulsively, handling aspects of her home and self she can control.
Unable to fill the void from her loveless marriage, Terry accepts an indecent proposal from Hank. Fully aware of the carnal tryst, Jack and Edith exploit the situation as an excuse to continue their relationship.
The movie is a character study and makes its point through how the characters relate, or don’t relate, to one another. The couples sacrifice love for cold comfort. Hank wants make his wife happy by condoning her relationship with Jack, but Jack eventually gives up Edith and concedes to a loveless marriage with an almost full life. The motivation behind their ultimate decisions is left ambiguous, but it’s implied that neither man has a choice in the matter.
An uncomfortable feeling lingers throughout the film, as if you’re peeping at neighbors through a window and could get caught at any moment. The movie feels largely like an intimate play with four primary characters, dependent on dialogue and constant tension, yet with very little action. The players are all generally likeable, which makes sympathizing with each character at any given time feasible. Right or wrong, each is equally entitled to our understanding and pity—which may be the most disconcerting thing about the movie.
The characters are all guilty of betrayal, but it’s impossible not to relate to their motivations. Subtle glances and lingering eye contact speak as loud as the actual infidelities. The characters may find momentary happiness away from their broken homes, but they always return out of obligation.
All of the actors have compelling magnetism. Down to earth and glaringly authentic, Mark Ruffalo leads the stellar cast. His disillusionment and feeling of being impossibly cornered permeate the screen.
Peter Krause (HBO’s Six Feet Under) gives Hank an understated air, always fully accepting of the circumstances. On some level, Naomi Watts’ insatiable sexual nymph, Edith, ultimately destroys both families with an effortless breeziness. However, it’s Laura Dern who captures the least desirable role and somehow steals the show with her portrayal of an unstable wife driven to the edge.In the end, what anchors We Don’t Live Here Anymore is misery. In addition to the film’s quality acting, expect a vivid portrayal of the effects of infidelity on a pair of small-town families—sad, powerful and sadistically entertaining.
September 2, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 36
© 2004 Metro Pulse
|
| 
