well as a climactic cri de coeur by Stephen
Sondheim), Baumbach can’t entirely cam-
ouflage his sour self-pity.
But with that self-pity comes, as usual,
stretches of brilliance, none more glitter-
ing than the film’s prologue: two lyrical
monologues illustrated with montages, a
wife’s tender paean to her husband’s most
lovable traits and a husband’s tender paean
to hers. The words are simultaneously true
and beside the point, since they have come
at the direction of a mediator who likes to
begin on a positive note to remind divorc-
ing couples what they once prized in each
other. In a dramatic coup, the wife refuses
to read aloud what she wrote—what we
heard was apparently an imaginary read—
and she angrily decamps, leaving a befud-
dled hubby behind. So much for positivity.
The husband is Charlie (Adam Driver),
a MacArthur-“genius”-grant winner who
directs an avant-garde New York theater
troupe; the wife, Nicole (Scarlett Johans-
son), is an L.A.-bred actress who has been
working with Charlie’s company but now
has a chance to return to L.A. (and the
showbiz spotlight) for a major TV role.
At issue is their issue, little Henry (Azhy
Robertson), whom neither wishes to have
on the other side of the continent. For
his part, Charlie doesn’t seem set on the
divorce. He’s moving slowly, mulishly,weighed down by the prospect of being
alone and, quite possibly, an Angeleno.
Try as you might, it’s hard to separate the
fictional from the true. Nicole is obviously
modeled on Baumbach’s ex-wife, Jenni-
fer Jason Leigh, with whom he has a son.
Like Nicole, Leigh grew up in a Hollywood
showbiz family, very (perhaps too?) close
to her mother and sister, and she gained
fame doffing her top in a landmark teen
comedy. Johansson has Leigh’s recogniz-
able mix of earnest good nature and neu-
roticism. She’s smart but also skittery.
The connection between Char-
lie and Baumbach is lessone-to-
one—so much less it seemsa bit
unfair. Charlie is certainlya tad
overbearing. Did he stifleNicole
by keeping her in New York,away
from her people? So shesays.Did
he muzzle her creativitybyrefusingtolet
her direct? That’s the charge.He admits
he once slept with a stage managerofno
importance but only becauseNicolehadn’t
had sex with him in overa year, andwhat’s
a guy to do, really? Andsurelythat Mac-
Arthur grant tells you he’sa greatartist,
someone who puts his verysoulintohis
work. Doesn’t that countforsomething?
Now Charlie is paying hardforhisinat-
tention and brief (butnotunjustified)
dalliance. Divorcing inL.A.ratherthanNew York means Nicole gets to stay in the
bosom of her family while Charlie is all by
his lonesome in a sterile pied-à-terre 3,000
miles from his artistic family, not just
among strangers but among driven, phony
L.A. strangers. It dawns on him that this is
what he gets for being self-centered, but his
self-centeredness seems so reasonable and
his comeuppance so harsh that the auto-
criticism has no sting. He’s too dopey and
lovable to regard as a threat to a normal
woman’s self-esteem, and there’s no third
party in the mix to complicate the picture.
What draws you into Marriage
Story isn’t the particulars but the
form, the attack. Each star has a
scene or three in which she or he
babbles and rails and walks in
and out of the frame, going for
broke in the way of actors in semi-
improvised psychodramas rather than, say,
billion-dollar fantasy franchises. I don’t
thinkaudiences and critics are wowed by
anything Nicole and Charlie actually say
(seeKenneth Lonergan’s director’s cut of
Margaret for revelatory pipelines to the
psyche)but by the fact that they’re saying
it atsuch a high theatrical pitch, in ways
thatmake crews applaud when “Cut!” is
called.Driver is a big guy with big but not
alwaysexpressive features—his face can be
a mask,his manner groggy, unfocused. ButInstallation view of
Energy
, on view at MoMA, October 21, 2019–January 26, 2020. Shown: International Electrotechnical
Commission (IEC). Power symbol (detail). 2002. Digital file. © 2019 The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Photo: Noah KalinaMARRIAGE STORY
DIRECTED BY
NOAH BAUMBACH.
NETFLIX. R.