The
Squid and The Whale: A Cautionary Tale
By
Erica Hector Vital
Red Rock Review
ericavital@cox.net
ericav@theflickchicks.com





Though the film is set in 1989, and lightly brushed with 80’s
nostalgia, The Squid and the Whale is a tale for modern times.
Writer-director Noah Baumbach’s story of a marriage at its end and the
bitter, but necessary, growth of two boys caught in the resulting tug-of-war
between an emotionally obtuse father and a mother just beginning to bloom, is
delightfully more Brother’s Grimm than Mother Hubbard.

By the time Baumbach introduces us to Bernard and Joan
Berkman, it is clear that what is over for the parents has just begun for 16
year-old Walt, an opinionated and obstinately wounded Jesse Eisenberg of
Roger Dodger, and 13 year-old Frank, a heart-wrenching performance by
Owen Kline, the son of Kevin Kline and Phoebe Cates. If there are two paths
into the haunted wood of separated families, Walt has doggedly decided to
follow the emotionally-dulled, pseudo-intellectual trail of breadcrumbs left
by the father, while Owen plods along the mother’s path which is filled with
emotional ruts of its own.

Laura Linney, as Joan Berkman, in the drab, crunchy style of New York
intelligentsia complete with Birkenstocks and shapeless hemp, lends a quiet,
self-possessed subversion that only Laura Linney can. There is no question
that she will survive. Joan Berkman radiates an off-handed confidence born
of necessity rather than self-righteousness. While Bernard squandered love
and talent, Joan has been writing, cultivating her boys, her chickens, as
she calls the youngest boy, who still delights in his mother’s affection.
The spirit her husband took for granted—as he takes intellect and talent for
granted--has been realized by Joan and turned into the totemic guide present
in all good fables, that will save her, and save her boys, even if it
destroys Bernard.
Linney’s Joan is the fairy godmother at the center of
The Squid and the Whale at the same time that she is the bearer of the
poison apple.

Her
sudden awakening, a career on the rise, a succession of lovers, precipitates
the family’s break. It is her refusal to remain under the spell of a life
that no longer works that draws the contempt of her husband and, more
important, the cold appraisal of her oldest boy. Clear-eyed, long-limbed,
Jesse Eisenberg is in many ways the impressionable innocent of 2002’s Roger
Dodger. But his Walt is also crafty, intentionally distant, and determined
to become as stingy in his creative life and in his ability to love as his
ousted father. “Dad’s the writer,” he says at the advent of his mother
publishing a novel. “Dad influenced her. She never wrote a word until he
met her.”

Jeff
Daniels’ Bernard Berkman has devolved from a promising novelist to a
creatively barren tightwad who thinks nothing of inviting himself on a date
with his oldest son, talking the boy and his date, Sophie Greenberg, a
fresh-faced Halley Feiffer who bears a spiritual resemblance to Linney, into
an inappropriate screening of the David Lynch film, Blue Velvet.
Bernard is as miserly with his emotions as he is with his cash. When Walt
comes to him for advice about women, and about Sophie in particular,
foolhardy Bernard regales him with visions of unattainable perfection, a
bloodless, nearly disembodied perception of women that will keep the boy
distant, suspended in a fairy tale of needs and expectations that can never
be met. While Joan makes her way out of the wilderness, Bernard’s world is
narrow enough to fit within a few trite definitions. Perhaps sensing he has
reason to be jealous of the youngest son’s tennis coach, a beautifully
long-haired, fit and soulful William Baldwin, he refers to the coach as “the
philistine.” When the boy asks “What is a philistine,” Bernard’s answer
illustrates the narrow terms in which he views the world. “A philistine is
someone who isn’t interested in serious books or in seeing interesting films
and things.”
Such
limited vision made it possible for Bernard to be sideswiped by the broader
leap toward life and love his wife, though fearful, has managed to take.

From
the long-suffering storefront preacher dad in Because of Winn-Dixie
to Lt. Col. Joshua Chamberlain in the award winning Civil War drama Gods
and Generals, it is virtually impossible not to truly like Jeff
Daniels. He is the man next-door. Tall, blonde, too solid to be gangly, it
is that hint of solidity, a willingness to suffer and forbear, that made
Daniels a likeable screw-up in the farcical hit Dumb and Dumber. So
it would seem impossible not to stumble across a redeeming quality in a
Daniels’ character. But Bernard Berkman is a knave whose particular brand
of villainy lies in his willingness to reduce his youngest son to the
dungeon of Bernardian definition while shaping his oldest son into his own
flailing image.

Having produced this film with one of the young masters of family ties and
unconquerable divides, Wes Anderson, Rushmore and The Royal
Tannenbaums, Noah Baumbach’s directing is as leisurely, a wonderfully
paced unwinding of character and scene punctuated by unexpected moments of
dialogue and emotional revelation. At moments it is hard to watch Owen Kline
as the youngest son who, rather than withdrawing from the break-up, takes
the full brunt of the ill-wind blowing through the family. Anna Paquin as
the graduate student set on seducing both Bernard and Walt is as saucy and
self-assured as any young girl has a right to be.

True to
the tradition of tragic tales meant to shape us, to give us an understanding
of old fears and imminent pitfalls, Baumbach tests his characters, keeps us
wondering how long they will remain in the gloomy wood and how, if ever,
will they find a way out. This is a film to watch more than once, a dysfunctional
family drama on par with Ordinary People and Terms of Endearment.




