LANDLINE Revels in the Charming Chaos of a Confused Family
Gillian Robespierre’s follow-up to OBVIOUS CHILD is an engaging (if safe) study of overthinkers.
In her nostalgic and likable second feature, Gillian Robespierre enlists the help of a solid cast to explore messy family dynamics and adultery in 1990s New York City.
The story revolves around Dana (Jenny Slate) and Ali (Abby Quinn), two sisters with enough of an age gap to have very different problems. Post-college, Dana is unappreciated at her job and has a dull fiancé named Ben (Jay Duplass), and Ali is nearing the end of high school and wondering what comes next.
Where Dana is complacent to the point of boredom — her relationship with Ben seems based on pleasant codependence more than anything else — Ali is rebellious and hot-tempered. There’s not much reason for them to be close aside from their genetic bond, so when a family crisis brings them together, the resulting alliance is understandably a bit complicated.
The drama starts to unfold when Ali discovers a floppy disk (LOL) filled with love poems written by their dad (John Turturro) and addressed to a mysterious woman. Though their parents’ relationship clearly isn’t perfect, this discovery sends Ali and Dana into a spiral of shock and, for Dana especially, uncomfortable self-reflection.
In spite of her engagement (or maybe because of it), Dana has found herself attracted to an old friend from college. She is soon engaging in a flirty affair with him, taking a leave of absence from a confused Ben and making a series of bad decisions (mostly drinking too much and getting her eyebrow pierced on a whim).
The sisters’ relationship is the heart of the movie, with Ali often stepping into the director/caretaker role as Dana flails. As the confused Dana, Slate is her usual charismatic self and is given ample opportunity to be charming as a klutzy, adorably dorky older sister. Quinn is also strong as a brooding but often wise teenager, and the brief, introspective moments Robespierre allows her speak volumes.
Edie Falco brings a wry sense of strength to the mix as Pat, the family’s heart and its problem solver. She’s a smart woman with strong opinions and a closet full of power suits, but her weakening connection to her children (especially Ali) and her fractured marriage have made her more bitter and cynical than she used to be.
It’s a shame that Falco and Turturro aren’t given a little more to do in Landline, but both bring depth and dimension to every scene they’re in. As they struggle to work through their marital issues they often behave just as emotionally and impetuously as their daughters, but it’s clear a deeper weariness weighs them down.
Though often touching and enjoyable overall, Landline doesn’t match the level of blunt honesty and warmth achieved in Robespierre’s first feature (also starring Slate). Where Obvious Child struck a near-perfect tone of bawdy comedy, heartbreak and wit, for the most part Landline feels like the fainter echo of a better film.
The ’90s setting gives the movie a fun and pleasant glow, however, thanks to spot-on costume choices and musical snippets from artists like PJ Harvey, The Breeders and 10,000 Maniacs. Maybe thanks to the times we’re living in now (and if you ever pined for something in the Delia’s catalogue while watching MTV), it’s comforting to go back to an earlier era for a few minutes.
Not that the characters share this sense of comfort, of course. They may learn a little bit from their troubles, but this family is still far from having life figured out. Times may change, but people (and the mistakes they make) stay the same.
