From the Archive — Rachel Getting Married

rachel robyn

Sometimes I simply get sad that there won’t be any more Jonathan Demme movies. This was written for my former online space.

One of things I most admire about Jonathan Demme as a director is his ability to take on seemingly any type of film and emerge with something inventive and accomplished. I’m not implying that Demme always achieves greatness; he may be to restlessly risky for that. But his films are always interesting, and, when he’s at his best, they’re intricate, deeply personal masterpieces. Rachel Getting Married is an example of Jonathan Demme at his best.

I’ve seen Demme excel with a rueful slice of life comedy, a raucous concert film, and a tense, ingenious thriller. He can make straight, smart documentaries and lithe larks with equal grace, but I’ve never seen him make anything quite like this. Rachel takes place over a weekend as a young woman, as the title implies, gets married. Rachel is not the lead character, however. That is her sister Kym, who briefly exits rehab to attend the ceremony, coming back to her family home for the first time in several months. Demme’s film depicts the pain and anger, the reopened wounds and tentative familial treaties that follow. It is heartfelt and heart-rending. Most of all, it is mercilessly honest about the ways in which the people who know each other best also know, instinctively, perhaps helplessly, the best ways to hurt one another. From the moment Kym walks back into her sister’s bedrooms, the verbal exchanges are quietly charged with years of resentment and anguished confusion. Every sentence has a steely barb attached to it, and Demme’s unblinking camera catches it all.

I’m sympathetic to those who mights suggest that Demme’s camera could have blinked a little more, not because the emotions it captures are too raw, but because it takes in so much. Scenes and sequences go on at great length, such as the rehearsal dinner in which the director is seemingly committed to capturing each and every toast delivered, including those that come after the dramatic crescendo of Kym’s problematic table-side oration. Similarly, the film gives a hearty taste of the full array of musical performances that reverberate throughout the reception. “Overlong” is the word invoked regularly in the less-enamored assessments of Demme’s film, but these stretches feel simply right to me. Demme’s immersive approach adds resonance to the sharp snap of the family fights. We don’t just feel that we know these people, but feel that we’ve almost co-existed with them in a way that is rare in film. It serves to accentuate the wrenching pain of a living room battle or a old forgotten artifact rediscovered at an especially inopportune time.

Demme gets the best out of his actors, too, and they are generally reaching levels (or taking approaches) previously unseen. It’s not startling to see an excellent Debra Winger performance, but, as I noted with Demme, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do anything quiet like this before. She plays the somewhat estranged mother of Rachel and Kym with a placid antipathy that is ferocious in its understatement. After years of commanding performances, Winger demonstrates the power in drawing in the audience by ceding the screen. While its admittedly a stretch to say so, the performance seemed like a delayed response to the grandly marauding Shirley MacLaine turn she saw first hand–and probably didn’t much like–twenty-five years ago in Terms of Endearment. This, the performance seems to say, this is how you place a fearsome, imperious matriarch.

Besides Winger, there’s marvelous work from Bill Irwin as a man whose walls against his own inner pain are frighteningly fragile, and Rosemarie DeWitt as the bride stubbornly bucking against the tumult chipping away at her day of celebration. And at the center there is Anne Hathaway as Kym, grinding bravely at character’s most unlikable traits and stripping any cliches away with the trembling humanity of her performance. Hathaway avoids actorly signals of her character’s struggles. Instead she drives deep until she emerges with something piercing in its truthfulness. It’s an accomplishment perfectly suited to the movie it resides in.