I spoke with two critic colleagues immediately after the Sundance premiere of Landline. “Oh my God, Jenny Slate is terrific, I love her!” cried one, while another groused: “Ugh, Jenny Slate is so annoying, how could anyone stand her for more than five minutes?”
More so than most films, writer-director Gillian Robespierre’s follow-up to Obvious Child may be a love-it-or-hate-it-affair. But in diplomatic form (or perhaps it’s just being wishy-washy), I must confess feeling somewhere in between. I think Slate is a tremendous and, more importantly, original performer. Her smart, goofy persona veers from incredible confidence to total basket case in record speed, and this presents itself in brash, unique ways. Unfortunately, the movie itself is a retread of indie story beats we’ve all seen time and again. Slate’s tornado of a central character doesn’t quite overcome the rote aspects of this production.
Landline is set in 1995, which means there are shots of floppy discs, VHS tapes and 10,00 Maniacs on the soundtrack. There’s really no point in setting the movie back then, but the nostalgia (rollerblades! record stores! pay phones!) gets its share of cheap laughs. Slate’s Dana is engaged to Ben (Jay Duplass) but she ends up sleeping with an old flame (Finn Whitrock). Dana’s younger sister Ali (Abby Quinn) is a senior in high school and is having some trouble with their parents (Edie Falco and John Turturro.) Things take a dark spin when Ali discovers what she thinks are her father’s love poems to his mistress.
Dana and Ali begin snooping around on Dad, but this is the excuse the movie needs to get these two estranged sisters to communicate more and, as a result, communicate with us in the audience. While there are no shortage of comedic set-pieces, the essence of Landline eventually reveals itself to be a fairly plainspoken examination of the struggle many have with fidelity, even when they love and admire their partners.
This formula – Slate’s silliness juxtaposed with a serious issue – worked wonders in Obvious Child, in which the third rail topic of abortion is dealt with maturely, bluntly and with little condemnation. Unfortunately, the wider group of characters in Landline deadens the effect. While everyone pulls their comedic weight, the need to unfasten then tie-up so many loose ends adds a great deal of weight to what should be a lithe comedy. (Also of note: Landline is noticeably less Jewish than The Obvious Child.) The result is an acceptable, but ultimately disappointing second effort.
That’s assuming, of course, you aren’t like my colleague who just can’t stand Jenny Slate. Her distinctive voice (is nasal fry a thing?) and frizzed-out hair have the markings of a young Carol Kane, but with a performer this specific you are bound to have some haters. What I find so appealing is how any worry concerning acceptance seem antithetical to her. And any movie with the throwaway line: “You wanna get high and watch Zelig?” can’t be all bad.
