Private Life is a portrait of contemporary professional creatives, of “happiness” (quotes intended), of New York City. In short, it’s the answer to my prayers for an alternative to Woody Allen’s Manhattan.
But that’s only the half of it, because Private Life is also an effective and authentic representation of reproductive health.
Written and directed by Tamara Jenkins, Private Life follows Rachel (Kathryn Hahn) and Richard (Paul Giamatti) — a writer and playwright on opposite ends of their 40s — as they attempt any and all means to have children. After overstretching their budget to afford in-vitro that didn’t work, they search for egg donors so that Rachel can carry their baby and Richard can make his ‘genetic contribution.’
Jenkins’ script captures her characters’ blend of cynicism and resilience, of hope and defeat. In January this year, she told IndieWire that the film is largely based on her own experiences attempting to conceive.
The film also speaks to how one’s private life suddenly becomes open for public discussion when trying to build a family. Each of Rachel’s friends and family members unabashedly share their opinions and advice, even their sympathy, unprompted.
After attempting invasive alternative procedures, Rachel and Richard’s doctor suggests they attempt to find an egg donor. Their search spins Rachel into a bout of insecurity and Richard into confusion. At various points throughout the film, they move between rage and frustration. Those rollercoasters never feel forced or melodramatic, but instead painfully real.
This couple is using desperate measures to control something that’s simply impossible to control.
One such measure is asking their niece, Sadie (Kayli Carter), to be their egg donor. To be clear, Sadie is not their biological niece but rather Richard’s brother’s step-daughter. Still, it brings their family further into their conception attempts.
Sadie’s spry wisdom is spot-on for someone of her time and circumstance. Carter deftly captures the ego, ambition and paralysis of being a young writer who’s seen very little of the world she wants to write about. (I should know; I’ve met people just like her. Hell, sometimes, I am her.)
Sadie’s mother, Cynthia (Molly Shannon), believes her daughter’s involvement grants her greater agency to announce her opinion: that Richard and Rachel should not have a child in the first place.
Cynthia scolds Sadie and accuses her of being short-sighted. She asks, what happens when Sadie wants to have her own children? Sadie replies that she doesn’t want kids, she wants a career. When her mother protests that she can have both, Sadie rebukes: “Do you know how many times you’ve told me that women have to sacrifice things to have kids?”
This scene is the mirror image of Private Life’s central plot: A young woman defending her right to have (and not have) children because she prioritizes her career. It’s easy to see Rachel feeling similarly at Sadie’s age, which makes this moment all the more poignant. It’s a testament to the pervasiveness of women being told they can “have it all” — it touched Rachel as a young woman, and now Sadie, twenty years later.
One of the most magnificent aspects of Private Life is its irony: That sometimes trying to make a family “work” — trying to achieve certain standards of happiness and wholeness, in this case, trying to have children — can leave one feeling empty, exhausted and alone. Their marriage frays because they’re each on edge, exhausted by their fight to conceive.
Despite working together for months towards a common goal, the couple are emotionally and sexually distant. Late in the film, after yet another defeat, Richard tells Rachel that he knows he should comfort her, but admits: “I just don’t have it in me.”
Herein lies another strength of the film: Private Life doesn’t pretend that a couple is forever and always one unit.
While Rachel and Richard are certainly attempting to conceive together and their affection is never in question, their relationship is not always on stable ground. They fight as much over minutia as they do over consequential decisions. Conception is a journey they share, but it’s one with unique challenges for each of them. And Private Life doesn’t pretend that all of those challenges can be solved with cuddles and a single conversation.
Like their jagged path to parenthood, their partnership is authentically unsteady. Hahn and Giamatti share a chemistry that shifts with the ebb and flow of their characters’ hope and resignation. Their quarrels and low-key dinners carry a banal glow. This chapter in their marriage is without sexuality — a sad irony of their attempts to conceive — but still carries a quiet intimacy that makes one believe their history and root for the future of their marriage.
Private Life reminds its audience time and time again that while Rachel and Richard are budding parents, that’s not all they are. Their book-stuffed, art-filled apartment hints at their intellectualism, now reflected in their support of Sadie’s creative ambitions.
The film doesn’t drag at 2 hours 7 minutes, but it does feel distinctly aware of its length. Private Life makes a point about patience, anticipation, disappointment and control (or lack of it). Jenkins uses these two hours very precisely, very empathetically — few scenes feel superfluous, and none feel longer than necessary.
Indeed, long takes heighten their due tension. Cinematographer Christos Voudouris’ slow tracking shots at times emphasize the distance between the couple, and at other reveal what’s just outside the frame of their marriage: more families trying to conceive, or parents enjoying their children
The film also makes a point of widening the conceptual frame around this couple. Sub-plots related to Richard’s theater company and Rachel’s novel, their shared art collection and their sex life reflect the reality of their current chapter. Conceiving and caring for a family can be all-consuming. It’s clear that this couple feel their marriage and their lives — both together and individually — have been consumed by their attempts to have a child.
‘Private Life’ is now streaming on Netflix.