Marriage Story: The Sacrifice of Transactional Relationships vs. The Sanctity of the Human Bond

Written by Suhana Danee

Marriage can be a beautiful thing. Two compatible souls, who share an everlasting, almost insurmountable, amount of love for each other are united. They make themselves at home in the warm sanctuary of each other’s quirks, despite how neurotic they might be. So these two people take a legal vow to love each other unconditionally, in sickness and in health, till death to them part. That is, until they file for divorce.

Given that half of all marriages result in some form of separation, divorce has become an unfortunate common-law practice of today’s society. It has become so common that individuals regard the phenomenon as second nature, a seeming sixth sense of the human condition. As a result, divorce has lost all emotive meaning, except to those who have had to endure it. In Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story (2019), the writer/director uses the power of dialogue, symbolism, and dualism to shape a narrative that reawakens society to what divorce truly is: an utterly complex crisis that demands a sacrifice of one’s way of life… and by extension aspects of their own persona. Baumbach makes it evident through the construction of Charlie and Nicole’s character arc that such a separation stems from reasons deeply rooted in a person’s psyche, and often has nothing to do with the absence of love. By the time the screen cuts to black, divorce does not seem so mundane anymore, but rather complicated beyond human conception.

Charlie and Nicole are good, normal people

In Marriage Story, Baumbach highlights from the beginning that first impressions matter. He strives to create loving, positive bonds between the viewer and each protagonist in the first minutes of the running time. Through a series of montages voiced over by each other’s ex-spouse, the writer-director infuses each character with an irresistible persona by describing their mundanities, the endearing quirks that anchor them to the real world. Nicole can drive stick and open really tight jars, yet always forgets to close a cabinet or finish her brewed tea. Charlie cries in emotional movies and tries to conserve energy when he can, but is a little too competitive when it comes to playing Monopoly. Every characteristic showcased, even those that seem slightly peevish, is perceived as charming, especially when described by the person who is supposed to hate them the most. Yet this affectionate “real portrait” is a distant memory as the camera cuts to the duo, now angry, in a marriage counselor’s office. Oftentimes, such characteristic details become lost in the vortex of a film’s winding narrative, to be erased in the audience’s mind. Yet in Marriage Story, Baumbach insists on the prevalence of these quirks, digging them deeper and deeper into the body of the screenplay not only to secure Charlie and Nicole as compassionate humans, but to also remind the viewer of their inward benevolence as they become outwardly cruel. By establishing the prevalence of these habits in the opening act, the characters establish a line between the business of divorce and the sanctuary of their everlasting bond. These ‘inconsequential’ eccentricities symbolize the duality of their relationship as it becomes more complex, as shown through the film’s turning points.

In the first turning point, as Nicole serves Charlie, Baumbach showcases their quirks through an amicable lens. Nicole’s modest outlook and propensity for finding a silver lining in a given situation shines through when Charlie tells her about the grant he won, which is still a secret. Charlie’s attention to detail becomes his leading trait in rekindling kinship with his in-laws, speaking to each other in phony Cockney accents seconds before the serve at the height of the scene. By lacing the subtleties of their personas into the scene’s core, Baumbach preempts the serve that concretizes the duo’s divorce to carry less emotional weight than previously thought. In the second turning point, the once bold line that divides the legal and personal aspects of the divorce becomes inevitably obsolete. The affection that Charlie and Nicole have for the other now exists deep beneath the surface, their actions increasingly fueled by hatred rather than empathy. All the quirks they once loved of each other become opportunities to gain an upper hand in the courtroom. The one time Nicole tripped on the stairs and jokingly blamed it on “the wine” becomes evidence for alcoholism (00:43:03 – 00:43:05). Charlie’s tardiness in picking up Henry is another reason for his irresponsibility as a parent. These habits no longer carry the tenderness it once did, molding into a symbol of their harrowing, irreversible divide. By the end of the film, the relationship flips again to mirror the original dynamic the two had. Gradually, humanity and affection find its way back in their relationship as their divorce loses all legal meaning. When Charlie reads her letter in the final act, the admirable quirks are reignited, becoming more lovable through its subversion. By bookending the letters the two wrote to each other, Baumbach proves that loss of marriage does not equate to loss of self, but a redefinition.

The New York vs. L.A. Dichotomy

Baumbach’s dualism is reflected throughout the story through the seemingly infinite symbols he wrote into the film, namely its two primary locations: New York and Los Angeles. These static locales become characters in the film alongside the protagonists, deepening their dualistic nature. As the duo’s divorce proceedings begin, Nicole solidifies their separation by sacrificing her position in Charlie’s theater company and their New York apartment for an opportunity to star in her own show and embrace an independent life. Nicole’s dramatic shift from a New Yorker theater actress to an L.A. television star not only symbolizes her desire to redefine her lifestyle, but cements her separation, physically and metaphorically. Baumbach embeds the character shifts into the screenplay, splitting the singular narrative into two sub-narratives: one in New York, where Charlie is the sole protagonist, and the other in L.A., where Nicole is the main character. At the film’s start, New York and the characters attached to it take up the entire narrative. Yet when Nicole redefines her routine and the L.A. narrative bears a larger presence in the film, New York consumes less screen-time and personifies a distant memory. Charlie, despite his efforts to keep his life with Nicole intact, has no bearing on the inevitability of Nicole’s L.A. counterpart. New York symbolizes nostalgia for Charlie, of a more unified time in his life, now shifting to be a source of resentment for Nicole. L.A. is a symbol of hope for Nicole to live a life she has yearned for, a life that Charlie cannot partake in. Eventually, New York becomes obsolete, a finished story. As Charlie accepts this and takes up a role in Nicole’s story, the narrative becomes one.

Conclusion

By crystallizing his characters and developing them in a symbolic story world, Baumbach creates a narrative that leaves a personal touch for each spectator. The relationship that Nicole and Charlie possess and the multitude of intricacies that exist beneath its surface are analogous to the viewer and their fears. Baumbach strives to impart the power each person has onto those in their life, in the world they built. As the credits roll, it is evident that divorce is not a phenomenon that can redefine every aspect of one’s lifestyle. As the phenomenon becomes more common, divorce still remains alone in its complexities. Like separation, Marriage Story is singular in its effect on the viewer, transcending its film value, and graduating into a cathartic experience.

Works Cited

Marriage Story. Directed by Noah Baumbach. Netflix, 2019. Film.