Tully

Most American movies about motherhood seem obligated to portray it as a blissful, transcendent experience: your life as a woman doesn't truly begin, these movies seem to imply, until you've had a child. While that may ring true for some mothers, it ignores the vast number of women for whom parenthood is an ambivalent, anxiety-ridden, life-defining ordeal, or who felt pressured (by their partners, by society) to have children in the first place. Mainstream comedies like Knocked Up and Waitress, ostensibly about unwanted pregnancy and the pressures facing first-time mothers, inevitably end with the realization that parenthood is what these characters wanted all along, the ultimate vocation that will give their life meaning. Even something like Bad Moms (not surprisingly) avoids commenting seriously on the trials of motherhood in favor of a generic, "let loose and live a little" vibe, in which the stresses of nine-to-five jobs, indifferent husbands, and upper-crust PTA boards can always be solved by finding a sitter and indulging in a night of debauchery. 

Tully has little interest in regurgitating this theme. Though it's obvious that the protagonist, Marlo (Charlize Theron), loves her kids—devoting particular time and energy to her possibly autistic son Jonah (Asher Miles Fallica), whom everyone infuriatingly calls "quirky"—the movie doesn't soften Marlo's "emptiness" (as she calls it in one scene), her feeling that being a mother has derailed her life in ways she never saw coming. It's rare to see such a bracingly honest depiction of parenthood in American movies, and even if Tully does compromise its sensitivity in some scenes (with an easy joke here or there and a denouement that feels artificially hopeful), it remains an incisive character study about things that are pervasively experienced but rarely talked about. 

There are few surprises as the movie introduces us to Marlo's home life. Working from home for a nondescript company's human resources department, she spends most of her time shuttling her kids to and from a ritzy private school; the principal suggests that a full-time aide accompany Jonah throughout the school day to help with his behavioral issues (then emphasizes that Marlo is expected to pay for it). Marlo's husband, Drew (Ron Livingston), has a tech job that no one understands, and even though he tries to be supportive of Marlo, each night he plays the same zombie video game, lying in bed with headphones on as Marlo sulks next to him. Things become even more monotonous after Marlo gives birth to a daughter named Mia, leading to one of the dreariest montages in recent memory: pump breast milk, change diapers, step on Legos, cook, clean, repeat ad nauseam. 

This is the world of postpartum depression, experienced by over 3 million people in the United States each year (and those are just the reported cases). The myth of motherhood as a universally euphoric experience is refuted by the reality of this condition, which affects 1 in every 9 new mothers. Tully received some backlash for failing to sufficiently explore or call out the facts of postpartum depression, as if a movie should doubly serve as a psychiatric brochure for the feelings the characters are undergoing; the criticisms wailed that Marlo is a "dangerous, delusional, and manic mom," which is absurdly hyperbolic and demands expectations of perfection from mothers that (the movie implies) are part of the problem in the first place. ​Tully isn't an instructional video about postpartum depression, it's a sensitive depiction of a woman who no longer recognizes herself and craves the vitality and expectancy of the young person she once was. Those feelings are relatable to anyone (regardless of whether they're parents) who has lost some of the spark or radiance from their youth. 

Marlo is able to relive those glory days thanks to a night nanny that her wealthy brother Craig (Mark Duplass) hires for her. The nanny's name is Tully, and she's played by Mackenzie Davis as someone perpetually, effortlessly aglow. She has infinite patience and respect for Marlo, and gazes at newborn Mia with genuine awe. Tully can spout interesting trivia about human cells one moment and suggest hipster bars in nearby Brooklyn the next; she inspires Marlo to drink sangria in an empty hot tub and reignite her sex life by surprising her husband with an old waitress uniform pulled from the recesses of their bedroom closet. But just when the depictions of overworked Marlo and effervescent Tully start to seem too trite and obvious, cracks appear in Tully's armor and Marlo begins to reclaim some of her happiness, offering us dynamic, unpredictable characters in ways that feel believable and organic.   

Tully

Grade: B+

Runtime: 95m.
Country: USA
Premiere: January 23, 2018 (Sundance Film Festival)
US Release: May 4, 2018

Director: Jason Reitman
Producers: Diablo Cody, A.J. Dix, Helen Estabrook, Aaron L. Gilbert, Beth Kono, Mason Novick, Jason Reitman, Charlize Theron
Writer: Diablo Cody
Music: Rob Simonsen
Cinematography: Eric Steelberg
Editor: Stefan Grube
Cast: Charlize Theron, Mackenzie Davis, Ron Livingston, Asher Miles Fallica, Lia Frankland, Mark Duplass, Elaine Tan, Gameela Wright, Tattiawna Jones

This is before an unexpected plot twist late in the film that some decried as outlandish and unnecessary, though in fact it's one of the few plot twists in recent memory that's completely attuned to the characters and what the movie is trying to do. If Tully is primarily about a mother whose love for her children doesn't offset her feelings of stasis, emptiness, and despair, then its admittedly jarring revelations are a logical development of Marlo's feelings of lost happiness. The sad undercurrents of the characters of Marlo and Tully aren't always presented in the most sophisticated ways, but they reveal a film that sympathizes so intimately with them that it follows Marlo and Tully to some bewildering places. It's unfortunate that some of the same critics who call (perhaps disingenuously) for more innovation and daring in mainstream movies end up faulting one of those movies for its daring plot construction, even when it's consistent to the story and the characters. 

The career of Jason Reitman—especially the films he's directed from Diablo Cody's scripts, which include Tully, Young Adult, and Juno—is somewhat strange. On the surface, he seems like the epitome of middlebrow workmanship, churning out comedy-dramas that are hardly formally innovative but give the impression of serious, high-quality moviemaking subservient to story and character. But in the three Reitman-Cody movies, as well as in something like Up in the Air, there is an admirable quietness and simplicity: they set out with relatively modest ambitions and achieve them extremely well. At their best, they recall some of the low-key character studies of the 1970s, like Irvin Kershner's Loving (1970) or Paul Mazursky's Blume in Love (1973). It would certainly be nice if Reitman tried to introduce some formal audacity into his movies, or at least a sense of rawness that's nowhere to be found in his sleek, careful aesthetic; but the upside is that almost all of the attention is placed onto the human beings populating the frame. 

Which brings us to Charlize Theron and Mackenzie Davis: Tully belongs to them, two actors who clearly relish playing off of each other. Of course, Diablo Cody's script provides a solid foundation; her typical theme of women trying to exercise power over their own destinies reappears, but without the obviousness of something like Ricki and the Flash. But whenever the script falters, Theron and Davis salvage it through performances that overflow with warmth and personality. It's doubtful that late plot twist would play so powerfully without their committed performances, and the character of Marlo could seem like dreary provocation without someone like Theron in the role. The fact that Tully passed by almost inconsequentially upon its release, with middling reviews and mediocre box office, is a disservice to these stellar performances, which alone make the movie worth watching. As if we needed any more proof of the Oscars' complete ineptitude and irrelevance, the Academy completely passed over their work, despite the fact that Theron's arduous preparation included gaining fifty pounds for the role—the kind of commitment that Oscar voters usually adulate. Meanwhile, Christian Bale gained 45 pounds to play Dick Cheney in Vice and received his fourth nomination. The latter is an uber-masculine story about a power-hungry warmonger; the former is a quiet and melancholy story about a mother trying to reclaim control over her own life. In a more just, less patriarchal film industry, Theron's work would garner at least as much acclaim.