Back when I used to work for Stylus Magazine before the site went through an epic collapse, the film section would occasionally publish a feature called “Scenes” where the writer would dissect a specific film moment and discuss what it meant to them. I always enjoyed the articles and feel now that I never took full advantage of the opportunity to analyze some of my favorite film scenes. So, I’ve decided to resume my discussion on film – which was essentially buried when COMACC went defunct – and am determined to resurrect the feature here. We’ll see how long this persists, but for now I’d like to make it a semi-regular feature here on the site (of course, since I’m not posting with the frequency I once was the term “regular” should be taken with a grain of salt).
Rather than start things off with a ubiquitously classic film scene that would cast an unwanted air of academia over the whole thing, I’m opting instead to go with a scene from the most recent movie I have watched which was Kicking and Screaming, the first film directed by Noah Baumbach (The Squid and the Whale, Margot at the Wedding). It’s a film that I can’t believe I haven’t seen before and in fact my roommates were appalled that I had somehow skipped over it all these years. Eh, it happens.
That said, the film is far from perfect – Baumbach delivers his message in broad, heavy-handed strokes and sentimentalizes far more than he should – but it does contain a number of brilliantly written (and performed) scenes, none more lasting than the oddly effective final scene. For those of you who haven’t seen the movie before, there could potentially be a few *spoilers* ahead and it would probably be advisable to watch the film before reading this. However, I will suggest that what I have to say here will likely not take anything away from the viewing experience since it isn’t as if Baumbach takes his narrative in a direction that, given the tone of his other films, isn’t at least slightly expected. So, use your own discretion in regard to whether you should read on or not.
Anyway, here’s the scene.
After that, the credits roll with Freedy Johnston’s appropriately forlorn 90s pop hit “Bad Reputation” playing and that’s it. There’s no further closure to anything. If nothing else, Baumbach knows how to end his films. The abruptness with which he wraps up his narrative and the odd sense that the lives of these characters extend beyond the end credits reminds me strongly of the qualities the great André Bazin attributed to the success of the Italian Neorealist films of the 1950s. While a certain amount of closure is achieved likewise in the endings of films such as the Bicycle Thieves as in Kicking and Screaming, the entire concept appears more like a snapshot of a larger narrative; as if the audience wandered into the middle of a drama only to catch a small sample of these characters’ lives. Granted, Baumbach plays upon the sympathies of the audience far more than his Italian predecessors and is probably slightly guilty of attempting to make the mundane more grandiose than it should be, but for this one brief moment it all coalesces into a perfectly scripted coda to an otherwise restrained post-College comedy.
Now, I’m no romantic (or maybe I am, but remain in an extreme state of denial over that fact), but the exchange between Jane and Grover left me feeling, well, kinda warm. It’s not so much the things that Grover says to Jane, which all come across as a little labored when you think about it, as much as Jane’s reaction to them; her knowing smile, her awkward yet adorable posture, the way she simply asks “What?” in response to Grover’s intense gaze while fidgeting nervously. It all works so well in getting Baumbach’s point across and one wonders why he didn’t resort to more of these moments earlier in the film. It’s a cathartic release from all the dense and theoretical musings on life (the film is very heavy on the dialog) that weigh down Grover’s existence throughout the film. Jane doesn’t have to say anything at all in response to what Grover tells her. Her body language says it all. And this final scene stands as one of the more effectively romantic endings to a comedy.
Of course, there’s another side to this that gives the whole ending a bittersweet tone. Out of context, the scene appears endearing and almost sappy in its portrayal of two people falling in love. Lest we forget, Baumbach ends his film in a flashback. In the film’s present tense, Jane has already absconded to Prague and Grover, perhaps feeling too proud or too afraid to accompany her, has elected to stay behind and wallow in his own self-loathing. With this in mind it becomes an unfathomably depressing scene accented even further by the fact that in the previous scene (that is, the chronological finale to the film) he made one last desperate and spontaneous attempt to visit her, but was thwarted by his own lack of preparation for such a trip.
Baumbach correctly leaves their future in flux, never hinting either which way if Grover would attempted to reconnect with Jane. In this way, the final scene suggests a number of potential futures for them, but ultimately boils down to two perspectives with which to speculate on the nature and outcome of this truncated romance. I imagine that the option you side with reflects a little something about your own perceptions about such situation. The optimist might view this as giving Grover a reason to make that trip, a reminder of what she meant to him and how her presence in his life helped give him a direction beyond simply wandering around a college campus, attempting to hold on to his quickly fading youth. The fatalist might instead view this as hopelessly lost moment in time, the last fleeting memory of Jane that Grover will ever hang onto. In reality he will never board that plane and will spend the rest of his time reflecting upon this moment, but never attempting to reconcile the affect it has on him by choosing the adult path of coming to terms with Jane’s decision. And while to some, simply having such a memory is better than never haven had such an experience, no one would ever mistake this for a conventionally happy ending to a romance.
How do I approach this scene? Well, I’m not going to reveal that. What you might know about me suggests a very obvious answer to that question. But sometimes you never can tell what a person is thinking and often times they end up feeling the exact opposite of what you anticipate. This may very well be one of those times.




