The big news out of Britain
is that the Duchess of Sussex, better known as Meghan Markle, is with child.
Ever since she wed Prince Harry on May 19. 2018, the adoring public (both in
Britain and in the colonies) has been checking out her press photos for signs
of a baby bump. Now, apparently, another royal baby is on its way.
The Royal House of Windsor
seems never to have had any problems with fertility. When Prince Charles wed
Lady Diana Spencer in 1981, she too was soon pregnant. (At age 20, she had the
advantage of youth and good health when it came to producing a strapping young
princeling.) That prince, William, grew up and took a bride, Kate Middleton:
she was 31 when she produced the first of her three royal children. But Meghan
is now 37, an age at which successful child-bearing can’t always be counted on.
Best wishes to her, needless
to say. But I’ve just seen a film in which the gift of pregnancy is not to be
taken for granted. Private Life (2018),
from the increasingly adventuresome Netflix, was written and directed by Tamara
Jenkins. She’s a gifted filmmaker, known for such well-observed family dramedies
as Slums of Beverly Hills and The Savages. More important, she knows
all too well what it’s like to try – and fail – to conceive a baby. After years
of effort, she and husband Jim Taylor (the artistic partner of Alexander Payne)
finally managed to become parents.
Parenthood is the desperate
hope of Jenkins’ two main characters in Private
Life. Vividly played by Kathryn Hahn (as Rachel) and Paul Giamatti (as
Richard), they are New York artsy-types who probably waited too long to commit
to the idea of childbearing. Now he’s 47 and she’s 41. Their union is strong,
but they’re driving one another crazy as they explore the various increasingly
unattractive options that lie before them. On the one hand, they’re looking
into adoption, which means remaking their lives to appeal to some teenaged
birth mother who may just be stringing them along. On the other hand, they’re
going through an intrusive series of medical procedures that might seem
hilarious if they weren’t so emotionally fraught.
When they learn that basic
biology has thrown them a curve ball, the idea of finding an egg donor first
arises. And into their rent-controlled Lower Manhattan flat comes a
niece-by-marriage, a spirited young college girl who may be the answer to Rachel’s
anxieties about being removed from the genetic process. Sadie is sweet and
eager to help, but also has a gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong
time. Like, for instance, at the Thanksgiving dinner table. She also has
parents who are not at all happy about her involvement in this adventure.
I won’t reveal how it all
comes out, except to praise Private Life as
a slice-of-life in the very best sense. Hahn (whose previous work I don’t know)
and Giamatti (who has made the portrayal of middle-aged male disgruntlement
into a fine art) are funny, touching, and above all real. And young Kayli
Carter is a revelation as the big-hearted, big-mouthed Sadie. By the film’s
end, you want nothing but the best for all these nice (but highly troubled)
people.
Private Life left
me feeling very grateful indeed. I hope the House of Windsor feels the same
way.
And my gratitude, plus an imaginary slice of
Thanksgiving pumpkin pie, to all Beverly in Movieland readers.
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