Charm offensive

‘Landline’ balances bittersweet hilarity with emotional sincerity

Writer and director Gillian Robespierre’s 2014 debut, “Obvious Child,” was an unlikely pairing of subject and genre—a charming, unapologetic abortion rom-com released in the midst of the (ongoing) political assault on women’s sexual agency.

It was a deservedly award-winning breakout for Robespierre and her adorable Gen Y muse, Jenny Slate.

With her follow up “Landline,” Robespierre takes her distinctive comic-tragic signature and explores the consequences of sex in a grander (if more conventional) story.

Dana (Jenny Slate) and her fiancé Ben (Jay Duplass, because a Duplass Brother is mandatory in these things) enjoy a perfect-ish relationship in a quintessentially upper-class, liberal New York family. Pat (Edie Falco) is the foul-mouthed, laidback matriarch to semi-neurotic Dana and her preternaturally wise, recklessly independent younger sister, Ali (Abby Quinn). Their father, Alan (John Turturro), is Pat’s ineffectual counterweight, more concerned with being the benevolent, sage artist of the well-to-do clan.     

Dana is seized by an existential malaise about her impending marriage when she begins to notice how married she already feels. She serendipitously reconnects with her college boyfriend (Finn Wittrock), a charming, polyamorous hunk (“We’re grown-ups. We know monogamy is impossible.”) who awakens her pent-up desires.

Fans of “Obvious Child” will find themselves in familiar territory—an amiable mix of deadpan comedy and whimsical drama balanced like a well-made sword. The story isn’t breaking any new ground in either direction, but the warm familiarity of its conventions reveal the depths of these characters (and sometimes their lack of it), as the tidal forces of emotion and circumstance reshapes each of them.

The cast makes it look easy. Slate is typically charming, her sharp intellect leavened by a sympathetic fragility that scores laughs in all the right places—particularly in scenes with Quinn. Duplass is correspondingly witty and funny, while Turturro slips into the role of Alan like a warm, well-worn glove. Falco steals
the flick, though, with a performance both hilarious and deeply endearing.

Robespierre sets it all in the mid ‘90s, a choice she said was made to remove technology from the equation—technology that so often, and ironically, makes it harder for people to connect. The result is a palpable nostalgia for simpler times.

It’s lighter than “Obvious Child,” but still poignant, resonating with bittersweet hilarity. A couple of scenes that feel ripped from real life radiate with an emotional sincerity that comforts in the knowledge that we’ve all been there. We’ve all lied. We’ve all cheated. We’ve all been confused. We’ve all made mistakes we wish we could take back.

For more from Joe, read his article on “Game of Thrones.”