Written and directed by Gillian Robespierre
USA, 2014
Obvious Child is an indie rom-com that wears its obvious heart on its obvious sleeve. Writer-director Gillian Robespierre does a good job with the lighter material, but her script falters when things start getting heavy. Luckily, she gets a magnificent lead performance from Jenny Slate to hold our attention. Everything about Slate is wonderful, from her effortless vulgarity to the vulnerability lurking just below the surface. Still, there aren’t enough laughs here to keep you entertained and not enough depth to get you thinking. It simply lacks the emotional resonance to emerge as one of this year’s indie darlings.
Donna Stern (Slate) is a stand-up comedienne whose act treads perilously close to her personal life. Her brand of comedy mines the sordid details that most people try to bury. It’s the kind of stuff that makes you cringe with painful acknowledgement even as you’re laughing. After her boyfriend dumps her, for instance, Donna stumbles onto the stage and delivers an embarrassing booze-fueled tirade — catharsis through comedy. Off the stage, Donna’s sarcasm functions as both shield and weapon, depending on how deeply someone burrows beneath her thin skin. She’s an intensely nuanced character who doesn’t spend much time coloring inside the lines.
It’s too bad she’s the only interesting character in Obvious Child. Yes, everyone is likeable enough, but they exist only in relation to Donna’s character and what the plot requires. These broadly-drawn caricatures aren’t in the same stratosphere as Jenny Slate’s complex protagonist. You have ‘the gay friend’ (Gabe Liedman), the ‘gruff but lovable best friend’ (Gaby Hoffmann), the ‘wacky dad’ (Richard Kind), the ‘disapproving mother’ (Polly Draper), and the ‘perfect boyfriend’ that Donna can’t allow herself to love. These simplistic characters don’t mesh with the weightier subject matter that Robespierre wants to explore, and it undermines the entire premise of her movie.
In addition to sitcom characters, there are the indie-com tropes we’ve come to expect: soulful conversations about nothing in particular, characters dancing to kitschy pop songs, and genuinely traumatic life events that are resolved with offhanded irreverence. Slate handles all of these contrivances with such aplomb that it makes you crave a meatier story for her to tackle.
A huge problem with Obvious Child is its pacing, which ranges from languid to shipwrecked. Almost every scene runs long, while others exist only to amplify the quirk quotient. It’s always wonderful when David Cross turns up, but his appearance in this film is so gratuitous that you can almost hear him saying, “Hi, I’m David Cross and I’m here to lend some indie credibility!” Despite a scant 83 minute runtime, Obvious Child feels more like a marathon than a pleasant jog.
The biggest culprit for the lethargic pacing is a severe lack of dramatic urgency in Robespierre’s script, both on a story and scene level. Part of this can be attributed to lightweight supporting characters whose sole purpose is to coddle Donna, even when she needs a swift kick in the pants. Each scene takes a relaxed, conversational tone, as if we’re eavesdropping on two old friends chatting in a restaurant. It may be pleasing to the ear (thanks mainly to Slate’s deft improvisation), but it fails to convey any sense of import or tension. We smile and nod our head, maybe chuckle to ourselves, and then we move along to the next scene.
More concerning, however, is Donna’s complete lack of direction or motivation. One doesn’t expect an ambitious hero at the heart of an indie comedy, but Donna can’t muster even the simplest goal or aspiration. Where is she going in her life? What does she want? Is she happy with the stand-up comedy gig? All we know is that Donna is down on her luck, which is barely enough to sustain a sketch, much less a feature-length film. It’s a credit to Jenny Slate’s infectious likeability that this microscopic plot holds any interest whatsoever.
Obvious Child bills itself as a romantic comedy, but the romantic elements are strained at best. Donna has a ridiculously unconvincing ‘meet-cute’ with Max (Jake Lacy) that quickly escalates into a one-night stand. Since no sex shall go unpunished in the movies, Donna ends up pregnant, forcing her to contemplate an abortion. Still, even with this life-shattering circumstance hanging over them, there isn’t a single substantive conversation between Donna and Max in the entire film. While we understand Donna’s reluctance to reveal her pregnancy to Max, this choice effectively cripples any chance for dramatic or comedic payoffs. Instead of offering some new insight into a complicated issue, their relationship remains limited to awkward quips and trite sentimentality.
Of course, Robespierre and Slate should be commended for trying to tackle this touchy subject with humor and sincerity. Perhaps this is what makes Obvious Child such a frustrating viewing experience. Instead of having the courage to dissect the social and emotional impact of such a monumental decision, the undisciplined script settles for breezy ‘feel good’ conventions and painless resolutions. No one questions anything in this movie; Donna simply makes up her mind and then barrels forward without opposition. The path of least resistance might make audiences feel comfortable, but it rarely helps them learn anything and it certainly won’t make them laugh. Obvious Child proves that the road to boredom is paved with good intentions.
— J.R. Kinnard