Review by Pamela Zoslov
Vanessa Taylor was
battling a case of writer's block when she penned the script for the
feature film Hope Springs.
Taylor, a writer and producer of HBO shows including Game
of Thrones and Everwood,
wrote a story about a middle-aged couple who seek counseling to
revive their faltering marriage. Taylor imagined it as “a tiny
indie movie” until someone showed the script to Meryl Streep, who
jumped aboard and enlisted The Devil Wears Prada director
David Frankel. With Sony's backing, the tiny movie became a major
release starring Streep, Tommy Lee Jones and Steve Carell as the
therapist who helps the couple rekindle their love.
That the movie got inflated into a star vehicle means that viewers
are treated to a virtuoso duet by two seasoned actors. It also makes
for a top-heavy film, with A-list acting receiving tenuous support
from a C-list script.
Streep and Jones play Kay and Arnold, a fiftyish couple married for
31 years. Their last child having left home, their relationship is
distant, almost wordless. Arnold has moved permanently into the guest
bedroom, ostensibly because of a bad back and sleep apnea. Kay, mousy
and bespectacled, makes some sad attempts to revive their sex life,
but even her new blue negligee (do people still wear negligees?)
fails to lure Arnold back to the marital bed. When their children ask
what presents they exchanged for their 31st anniversary, Kay responds
with embarrassment. “We got each other the new cable subscription!”
Kay, who works at a clothing store, asks her friend Eileen (played by
Jean Smart, who I would have liked to see in a bigger part) if she
thinks marriages can be renewed. “You married who you married, you
are who you are” is Eileen's no-nonsense reply.
But Kay is determined: “I want to have a marriage again.” She
picks up a book by Dr. Feld (Carell), whose kindly therapeutic face
reassures her from the cover of his book, “You Can Have the
Marriage You Want.” Kay signs up for Dr. Feld's intensive
counseling retreat at Hope Springs, spending her own $4,000 to
enroll. Arnold, an accountant, objects strenuously, but eventually
agrees to make the trip.
Arnold is a piece of work, a nasty, cynical S.O.B., but we can't help
but agree a little with him that Dr. Feld's program seems like a bit
of a racket. Every other visitor to the quaint seaside town of inns
and lobster restaurants seems to be there for the same purpose. “The
10:30 with Bernie?” a diner waitress inquires knowingly. Sitting
across from her grumbling husband, Kay looks enviously at a couple
holding hands, who tell her they come back for frequent “tune-ups.”
But the film's attitude toward expensive therapy retreats is not at
all satirical. It's a straight-faced narrative about how Arnold and
Kay get their groove back, with the help of the wise Dr. Feld. The
lone moment of genuine comedy occurs when Arnold, at dinner with Kay,
makes fun of Dr. Feld's sober, measured tones, imagining the doctor
speaking that way while having sex with his wife.
I get a little tired of Meryl Streep's ubiquitous acclaim, but it
can't be denied that she can really disappear into a role. She
invests Kay with little gestures and vocal mannerisms that are
unexpected and delightful. Because the movie's characters are from
Nebraska, or the writer's idea of Nebraska, Streep gives Kay a soft,
subtle Midwestern twang. “When was the last time you touched me
that wasn't just for a picture?” Kay asks her husband during a
counseling session, her pronunciation hovering between “picture”
and “pitcher.” When Dr. Feld asks about her sexual fantasies –
a subject on which he dwells to the point of prurience – Kay
reflexively fastens the buttons on her demure flower-print cardigan.
Jones, in a role that was initially offered to Jeff Bridges, has the
challenge of humanizing the curmudgeonly Arnold. Jones is always
interesting to watch (especially the topographical map that is his
heavily lined face), but the character is so rigid and irritable it's
a wonder anyone, let alone the sweet Kay, could love him. Dr. Feld's
prescriptions focus almost entirely on sex, but the narrative
suggests that the couple's problems go beyond insufficient blow jobs
(Kay at one time buys a bunch of bananas for practice) into the realm
of emotional abuse. Consider Arnold's estimation of Kay's intellect.
When they first met in college, Arnold recounts, he was a teaching
assistant in accounting, and she was a student. What did he notice
about her? “She was pretty, and she probably shouldn't be majoring
in accounting.” Evidently that's why all she can do now is cook
eggs and fold sweaters at the mall.
Taylor's ideas about what happens in an older marriage seem to derive
from television. Arnold gives Kay “practical” gifts rather than
jewelry. She talks about boring things. He watches too much golf on
TV. Oddly, the couple seem to be not just from Nebraska, but from
Nebraska in the 1950s. She's scandalized by talk about sex, but they
have cable, laptops and high-speed Internet, and presumably are of
the Baby Boomer generation. Apparently the sexual revolution entirely
missed the Cornhusker State. Do people who live on the coasts
imagine Middle Americans still posing for American Gothic?
It is refreshing, however, to see a film that celebrates people of
mature years. As the success of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
demonstrated, there is a market for these kinds of films. A
quiet chamber piece like Hope Springs is a good counterweight to the
summer's dark and violent movie cacophony, as well as a chance to see
two veteran actors deploy their considerable talents.
