I have a hunch that at some point during a professional
screenwriting seminar, the host gives aspiring screenwriters the following tip:
Make one of your characters rich.
Or, at the very least, make your protagonist come in contact with
someone rich.
Otherwise, you’ll have
a hard time convincing the audience that he can dash off to the airport on a
whim and pay full price for a plane ticket to Paris, a la Jack Nicolson’s
character in
Something’s Gotta Give. And
if such a character doesn’t fit the narrative,
just make a hefty expenditure a symbol of the character’s devotion to
his profession. This explains why a high school teacher can have 30 copies
of a $25 book sitting in his car just waiting for a physical confrontation to
justify his extravagant purchase or why a member of a CSI team can suddenly announce
that he not only ordered and personally paid for a forensic device only available
in the U.K. (imagine the shipping and handling on that!) but also just happens
to have it on hand when only it can solve a crime. Heroes, you see, don’t let a
little thing like money or debt stand in their way.
And speaking of heroes, it’s a good thing that Tony Stark
is a billionaire because otherwise we’d watch the Iron Man and Avengers films
and wonder just how one person was funding the whole operation. After all, the
Avengers need a not-so-secret headquarters, advanced aerial transportation, state
of the art costumes, devices that create an unlimited supply of arrows (until
the plot calls for them to run out, that is), a constant supply of impenetrable
shields, high-tech motor vehicles that can withstand falls from planes, nifty utility
belts, and communication devices so small that it looks as if the Avengers are talking
to themselves. Oh, and an army of remote-controlled Iron Man suits that Stark
has no “financial” problem blowing up as a gesture of his love for Pepper Pott.
I mean, really, that’s one rich dude. And yet, according to
The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he
didn’t pay Sam a monthly salary. Go figure.
But let us leave the magical realms of comic book
universes and return to depictions of life that are meant to better reflect the
world in which we live, and by this I mean that emotion-filled world inhabited
by Charlie and Nicole Barber. Charlie, for those of you who haven’t seen Noah
Baumbach’s
Marriage Story, is a
genius theatrical director, and Nicole, his theatrical muse and wife. In the
film’s opening scene, we learn the two are in counseling ostensibly to save
their marriage, yet it is soon abundantly clear that the best they can hope for
is a cordial dissolution and a nice distance from each other. The two live in
New York and have a son together, and yes, he will soon become the catalyst for
a rather bitter custody battle.
Now if you’ve ever gone through a divorce – and I have -
you know how painful and ugly one can become, especially when property, money,
and children are involved. Many couples start off thinking they can keep things
civil, and a few manage to. For others, divorce and custody battles carry with
them the specter of financial ruin, especially if lawyers become involved, and there
are countless examples of women and single mothers whose standard of living
fell considerably after a separation. In fact, Hollywood used to tell their
stories. Silent films, as well as films from late 1920’s and 1930’s, told tales
of wronged women, of children abandoned or orphaned, of characters so poor that
they became victims of a society eager to take advantage of the downtrodden. It
hardly does anymore.
More often than not, Hollywood gives us films like
Marriage Story, stories in which money
is just a minor inconvenience and large expenses turn out not to be so
burdensome after all. For much of the first half of the film, Charlie is aghast
at just how expensive it is to fly to Los Angeles and back after Nicole moves
there to shoot a television pilot. (She gets the part, of course, thereby
removing any thoughts you might have about just how expensive it would be to
live there.) He even remarks to a lawyer that he can’t afford his services. Ah,
but before you start worrying that he’ll lose custody of his son, know this.
Charlie has been awarded over $600,000 because of his artistic intellect. Now,
the film goes through the motions of having him declare his intention to use
the money to support his Broadway-bound production, but when you have half a
million dollars at your disposal, you sort of lose the argument that you can’t
afford airfare, especially if you purchase tickets well in advance.
The film introduces a “cheaper” lawyer, only for Charlie
to cut him a check for $25,000 and fire him for being “too nice.” We hear that
his Broadway show closed and that with his hectic travel schedule, he “had” to
accept a job directing a few local productions. He clearly feels this is
beneath him, but for most people in his situation, a job is a necessity, not a
luxury that they can badmouth. And then he hires the high-priced lawyer he earlier
deemed too expensive, rents a house in Los Angeles, and directs a local
production and that’s the last we ever hear of money being an issue. As for
Nicole, her repertoire expands to directing, and as her fame grows, all talk of
how she’ll pay for her own high-priced attorney evaporates. In the end,
Marriage Story is a movie about two
financially-secure people engaged in a custody fight, and, as ugly as that
fight becomes, the kid will be fine regardless of which of his parents he ends
up living with.
In other words,
Marriage
Story pays lip service to the real-world effects that its subject matter
has on average folks. Tell the average person that he’ll have to fly to the
other end of the country to see his son, and witness the panic that creates.
Tell the average person that decent legal representation will set her back $100,000,
and take a guess whether she’ll return later to hire his services. How many
average people have the luxury of a television salary or monetary award to fall
back upon? I’m guessing not many. I get it, though. Screenwriters write about
what they know, and successful directors know successful actors, some of whom
go through divorces. With
Marriage Story,
Baumbach has told one of their stories, and in truth, he’s told it well. It
just isn’t
our story, and the sad
thing is that this is likely by design. Even sadder, it’s not likely to change.
After all, which would you rather see, Nicolson and Keaton kissing in front of
the Eiffel Tower, destined for happily ever after, or Nicolson sitting alone
lamenting, “If only I’d had the money!” For Hollywood, it’s a no-brainer.
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