B+Directed by Emma Seligman Starring Rachel Sennott, Molly Gordon, and Danny Deferrari Review by Jon Kissel |  |
A new level of Jewish cringe comedy is reached in Emma Seligman’s Shiva Baby. Seligman’s feature debut contains enough toe-curling awkwardness to make Larry David sit up and take notice, all contained within a party that’s not as extreme as the events of Darren Aronofsky’s mother! but reminiscent nonetheless. Adapted from a short, Shiva Baby piles tension and complication on its protagonist, a young woman of little accomplishment who’s confronted with judgmental relatives and the thorny untangling of her sexual escapades. Seligman meticulously lays out scenario after scenario to bedevil her lead, and the result is a tremendously watchable film even if it must occasionally be seen through hands over eyes.
Rachel Sennott stars as Danielle, a college senior on the cusp of graduation but with one of those liberal arts degrees that earns so many cheap shots from the public. While her work in gender studies might pay the bills one day, Danielle’s money in the present is being generated as an escort. The film opens in the middle of an enthusiastic regular session with Max (Danny Deferrari), which is wrapped up quickly because Danielle has a shiva to get to. Though it’s never clear who died, the claustrophobic event is attended by her doting and belittling parents (Polly Draper and Fred Melamed), as well as her former best friend Maya (Molly Gordon). Their insular community was abuzz when teenaged Danielle and Maya started a romantic relationship, but things petered out under social pressure and different colleges. One former paramour for Danielle isn’t enough for this party, however, as she is shocked to see Max arrive with his non-Jewish blonde wife (Dianna Agron) and infant daughter. Self-destructive behavior subsequently wages war on propriety and manners, and it wouldn’t be much of a movie if the former lost.
Befitting Danielle’s discomfort, Seligman and her cinematographer Maria Rusche keep the camera in tight close-up for most of the film’s 78 minutes. This puts the viewer squarely in her head. When she’s surprised by an aunt sidling up behind her, so is the viewer. When Danielle is repulsed by an overloaded egg salad sandwich squelching its way into someone’s mouth, so is the viewer. Additionally, conversations aren’t muted or reduced when Danielle is around, so the constant cacophony of chatter serves as an accompaniment to Ariel Marx’s score. Emotional or sensory harm isn’t enough for Danielle, as Seligman sticks her with protruding nails and dumps coffee on her blouse. The effect is total immersion, such that bathrooms become oases and an alley behind the house feels like a beachside resort instead of an eastern seaboard suburb.
Within this construction of an oppressive atmosphere, the other party attendees are putting on clinics of passive-aggressiveness. Each new middle-aged to elderly relative that approaches Danielle knows exactly what she’s studying but they make her repeat it over and over again, only to wander away from the conversation oozing disdain for her choices. Compounding matters is Danielle’s mom’s good-natured grooming of her daughter, leaving Danielle with the unenviable choice of looking like an infant by submitting or a brat for resisting, both of which confirm what her relatives think of her. Max, who Danielle cannot help but buzz around and make her own cruel comments aimed at his wife, is an unconscionable dirtbag and a skilled liar that Danielle can’t rattle, try as she might. The only outlier is Maya, who by appearing honest and decent automatically becomes the most appealing person at the party.
Throughout it all, Danielle’s motivations for why she does what she does are stripped away, leaving a raw and vulnerable person who’s as concerned about her future as her relatives pretend to be. Sennott, who never leaves the frame, shows all her rebelliousness and shame and hurt feelings alongside a cutting and acerbic nature that serves her well in this den of vipers. She and Seligman both are strong new finds, as is what should be a breakout exhibition for both of them. Shiva Baby impresses as much as it horrifies. The ick factor of all those mayonnaise-based salads being eaten cannot be overstated. B+
Befitting Danielle’s discomfort, Seligman and her cinematographer Maria Rusche keep the camera in tight close-up for most of the film’s 78 minutes. This puts the viewer squarely in her head. When she’s surprised by an aunt sidling up behind her, so is the viewer. When Danielle is repulsed by an overloaded egg salad sandwich squelching its way into someone’s mouth, so is the viewer. Additionally, conversations aren’t muted or reduced when Danielle is around, so the constant cacophony of chatter serves as an accompaniment to Ariel Marx’s score. Emotional or sensory harm isn’t enough for Danielle, as Seligman sticks her with protruding nails and dumps coffee on her blouse. The effect is total immersion, such that bathrooms become oases and an alley behind the house feels like a beachside resort instead of an eastern seaboard suburb.
Within this construction of an oppressive atmosphere, the other party attendees are putting on clinics of passive-aggressiveness. Each new middle-aged to elderly relative that approaches Danielle knows exactly what she’s studying but they make her repeat it over and over again, only to wander away from the conversation oozing disdain for her choices. Compounding matters is Danielle’s mom’s good-natured grooming of her daughter, leaving Danielle with the unenviable choice of looking like an infant by submitting or a brat for resisting, both of which confirm what her relatives think of her. Max, who Danielle cannot help but buzz around and make her own cruel comments aimed at his wife, is an unconscionable dirtbag and a skilled liar that Danielle can’t rattle, try as she might. The only outlier is Maya, who by appearing honest and decent automatically becomes the most appealing person at the party.
Throughout it all, Danielle’s motivations for why she does what she does are stripped away, leaving a raw and vulnerable person who’s as concerned about her future as her relatives pretend to be. Sennott, who never leaves the frame, shows all her rebelliousness and shame and hurt feelings alongside a cutting and acerbic nature that serves her well in this den of vipers. She and Seligman both are strong new finds, as is what should be a breakout exhibition for both of them. Shiva Baby impresses as much as it horrifies. The ick factor of all those mayonnaise-based salads being eaten cannot be overstated. B+
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