Landline
Directed by: Gillian Robespierre
Written by: Elisabeth Holm & Gillian Robespierre
Starring: Jenny Slate, Abby Quinn, John Tuturro, Edie Falco, Jay Duplass, Finn Wittrock
Comedy - 93 min Reviewed by Charlie Juhl on 25 Jul 2017
Written by: Elisabeth Holm & Gillian Robespierre
Starring: Jenny Slate, Abby Quinn, John Tuturro, Edie Falco, Jay Duplass, Finn Wittrock
Comedy - 93 min Reviewed by Charlie Juhl on 25 Jul 2017
How I think of the 1960s, a time far enough before I was born to seem foreign, is how my kid comprehends the 1990s. That makes me feel uncomfortably old. The last years before the internet became ubiquitous, when cell phones were still abnormal to see and the size of bricks, and Hillary Clinton was the First Lady doesn’t seem that long ago; however, when I was a kid, I suppose Beatlemania didn’t seem that long ago to my folks. So, grab your Zima and some loose change for the pay phones because Gillian Robespierre takes us back to the recent past and presents a standard family drama; they look like they have it all together on the outside, but poke a bit deeper, and each unit is unsure, harbors secrets, and has no idea what they want out of life.
Landline’s family is a bit more cosmopolitan than the standard ‘90s family of Roseanne or the Taylors on Home Improvement. They are Manhattanites on some side of Central Park and maintain a laissez faire attitude in acceptable conversation. Returning from their summer house, the two daughters snipe at one another in the back of the car. 15 year-old Ali (Abby Quinn) exclaims, “I can see your boyfriend’s cum stain”. Rather than feign shock or admonishment, mom (Edie Falco), explains, “Come on, he’s her fiancé”. It is the most natural of occurrences that the man would sport dried genetic material on this shorts. I don’t care what year it is; it is the rare family willing to have that conversation in their Volvo station wagon.
Landline’s family is a bit more cosmopolitan than the standard ‘90s family of Roseanne or the Taylors on Home Improvement. They are Manhattanites on some side of Central Park and maintain a laissez faire attitude in acceptable conversation. Returning from their summer house, the two daughters snipe at one another in the back of the car. 15 year-old Ali (Abby Quinn) exclaims, “I can see your boyfriend’s cum stain”. Rather than feign shock or admonishment, mom (Edie Falco), explains, “Come on, he’s her fiancé”. It is the most natural of occurrences that the man would sport dried genetic material on this shorts. I don’t care what year it is; it is the rare family willing to have that conversation in their Volvo station wagon.
Ali and her grown-up and already moved out of the house sister, Dana (Jenny Slate, Gifted), receive most of Landline’s attention. Dana drags her feet too much for a bride. She postpones things like buying the dress or any mention of an actual date for the nuptials. Her fiancé, Ben (Jay Duplass), comes off as a harmless goofball who devotes too much attention to the latest Hammacher Schlemmer catalogue. Dana knows he is marriage material, but more like ‘I’ll settle for that in my 30s kind of guy instead of ‘Oh my God, this guy is amazing’ right now in my early 20s material.
Ali is in rebellious teenager mode. She considers herself mature now, calls out hypocrisy and rolls her eyes at the world, and pushes a bit too far into the adult world when her casual drug use at illicit parties ramps up to the next level. Ali is the first to discover dad (John Tuturro, Exodus: Gods and Kings) is having an affair. This does not shatter her world, Ali is aware enough to know parents can and do commit adultery, but her square dad is writing erotic poetry. Eww. Robespierre offers us an excuse for Alan the dad. Pat, his wife, overtly mocks him professionally and belittles him in front of the girls. Pat is not spiteful out of malice and cruelty, but she’s out of patience with her husband she considers too hands off with the girls and stuck in a rut.
All these domestic issues and conflicts are nothing new in cinematic dramedy territory. Considering this is Robespierre’s follow-up effort after Obvious Child (2014), a far more pointed and biting comedic look at a girl in her early 20s navigating a puzzling world, Landline’s impact hits flatter. The atmosphere is lighter with tongue-in-cheek references to ‘90s pop culture and fads, but it’s more schtick than necessary. The script, co-written by Robespierre and Elisabeth Holm, must be autobiographical to a point because otherwise, there is no reason to set the story in 1995. A family foursome with an adulterous dad, jaded wife, and hesitant and frustrated daughters is more than possible in the digital age.
Now that Gillian Robespierre has two films under her belt, the trends emerge. Crude humor is the most in your face. Jenny Slate spent a good chunk of Obvious Child talking about farts and foreign substances that end up in her underwear. Her character in Landline is a bit more subdued on that front, but Robespierre still calls out the audience as prudes in a way when Ben pees on Dana in the shower. I am all for filmmakers reminding us their characters are real people and undergo the same body issues as everybody else, but I have a feeling this quirk will also pop up in Robespierre’s next film as well. Landline is not a sophomore slump by any means, but as it will inevitably be compared to its older sibling, Obvious Child outshines its little sister.
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