Little Children
130 minutes, MPAA rating: R2 stars
Many couples keep separate Netflix queues, I hear, but I think that's asking for trouble. My wife and I already encounter the occasional Personal Queue Blocker: for instance, A History of Violence, which sat around for weeks before I sent it back unwatched. (I finally remembered that Whitney doesn't trust David Cronenberg, not since those drug-addled twin gynecologists in Dead Ringers.)
My Personal QBs tend to be films that hew too closely to my own world. Sadistic proctologists would be no problem, but Little Children, which explores the world of middle-class stay-at-home parents? Now that's terrifying. It took liberal doses of rationalization ("They're in the suburbs. That's completely different.") and aesthetics (love that Kate Winslet) to get the disc in the player.
Little Children is about two stay-at-homes who don't feel at home in their lives. Sarah (Winslet) can't seem to parse what's happened to hers; certainly the high-school-clique vibe of the playground moms wasn't her plan when she was earning her masters in English. Brad (Patrick Wilson), a hunky former high school football star, is reluctantly studying for the bar exam at the behest of his wife, Kathy (Jennifer Connelly), a high-achieving type who makes a habit of casually emasculating him. Sarah and Brad bond over their common sense of alienation—and that soon leads to an affair, carried out behind the backs of their increasingly neglected kids.
This film is based on a novel, and it shows in good and bad ways. The screenwriters (author Tom Perrotta and director Todd Field) capture much about parenthood wonderfully—they nail that aching desire parents often feel for our former existence, which seems tantalizingly close but recedes so rapidly. But then there's also a major subplot about a child molester (Jackie Earle Haley) who has returned to live in the town upon his release from prison. And there are scenes from Kathy's point of view, and from that of Sarah's husband, Richard (Gregg Edelman), an ad exec with a penchant for Internet porn. And a distracting voiceover narrates much of the movie's first half. (Seriously, how do you cast an actor as transcendent as Winslet and then have a voice tell me what she's feeling?)
It's just too much ground for one movie to cover. Despite truly great work by Winslet, the underrated Wilson, and Haley, Little Children starts to go off the rails as it approaches its Momentous Conclusion, which feels more forced than earned. There simply hasn't been time to get involved enough in several of the story's threads.
Still, if you're looking for some sympathetic treatment of the Mommy and Daddy Wars, this movie might serve you well (Whitney liked it more than I did). On the other hand, if you find yourself resisting its subject matter, you might want to choose something else. (Sadistic proctology optional.)
