Rabbit Hole vs Antichrist

There is sadness in every frame of Rabbit Hole, but it is an active, exhilarating sadness that belongs to people living lives, taking the risk of putting one foot in front of the other, today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. It would be a mistake to call it a depressing movie; surely if the characters in Rabbit Hole, for all their regret and loss, can get up in the morning, you can at least enjoy being in their company for a couple hours. I did, and I’m eager to again.

Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart are Becca and Howie, who lost their son Danny eight months ago. His death was pure accident; Rabbit Hole is not a movie with unseen dangers or conspiracies or untended, overflowing bathtubs. What a relief. The death of Becca and Howie’s son is in the past, where it belongs. By not showing us the tragedy (at least not directly, or graphically), the pain remains firmly with Danny’s parents, allowing us to witness their progress through grief, minus any rubbernecking opportunities lesser filmmakers than John Cameron Mitchell might have presented.

As the movie opens, Becca and Howie are attending group therapy for the parents of deceased children. Howie benefits from it, somewhat, finding comfort in the expression of common loss. Becca thinks it’s a crock, and says so. They’ve gone before, but she won’t be going back. Becca and Howie barely speak at home, at least not about what they’re both thinking, and have stopped having sex. His attempt to late in the movie leads to one of the more spontaneous, realistic and powerful couple’s fight I’ve seen in a movie. It’s like hearing your parents argue from down the hall. But both are branching out, somewhat. Howie wants to reclaim the house as theirs and start again, maybe even have another baby. And he’s continuing group therapy, bonding the most with Gaby (Sandra Oh), who is open, friendly, patient, and has pot in her car.

Becca has reached out to her mother (Dianne Weist, impeccable) and sister (Tammy Blanchard), although cautiously. Her mother lost a child once, and brings it up a lot, even though the child and the circumstances could not have been more different than Becca’s. And Becca’s sister is wild and free in ways that embarrass Becca, and has recently gotten pregnant by another woman’s husband. Becca washes up her son’s clothes and brings them to her sister, but is turned down. Kidman, Weist and Blanchard play the scene just right, everyone punctuating each awkward beat with a nervous laughter-assisted attempt at not offending anyone. More significantly, Becca is getting to know Jason, a local teenager connected to her life in a way I won’t spoil here.

All of the drama of Rabbit Hole comes from sorting out what’s happened in the past eight months, and what’s coming in the next eight. Becca has distanced herself from her best friend; they’ve given their dog to her sister; they might sell the house. Most of the strides, big and small, are made emotionally. Kidman and Eckhart have been so good in so many movies by now that it would be comparing apples and oranges to say these are their best performances. I will say that neither has ever moved me as much. Eckhart has a moment with their dog on the sidewalk that is wrenching, and Kidman has a similar scene, alone in her car, watching someone else’s life progress in a natural, happy, healthy way her Danny will never know. Kidman keeps Becca interesting, always thinking, quick with a dark joke, only turning up the volume at key moments. There’s not a wasted second of this performance. The heart of Rabbit Hole is Becca’s interactions with Jason (Miles Teller), who is wounded and shy, but also smart and non-judgmental in ways perhaps only Becca appreciates.

Rabbit Hole was a bit of an antidote to Antichrist, the most recent film by Lars Von Trier. It also involves a couple (Charlotte Gainsbourg and Willem Dafoe) who recently lost a child. We see it happen. They were fucking and their toddler jumped out a window. Oh Von Trier, so light-hearted, so subtle.

The characters are only called He and She. He is a therapist, and decides that She is moving too slowly through the grieving process. She is hallucinating, and has become defensive and angry. They go to a cabin in the woods for intense therapy, fighting, visions, switches between black-and-white and color, genital mutilation, the devil, forest phobias, decomposing wildlife, the usual.

Antichrist is fascinating, maybe brilliantly acted (I say “maybe” because I liked both actors, but hated both characters. Not sure it was supposed to shake out exactly like that), sexually graphic, violent, unintentionally funny, beautifully shot, and painfully, surprisingly, numbingly boring. For huge stretches of time, Antichrist is quiet to the point of experimental. Is Von Trier tricking me into turning the sound up and down? Unlike Rabbit Hole, you cannot imagine, no matter how hard you try, that this couple was ever happy before their son died. They are way too fucking creepy and perverse and bitter now for it to all be new. I’m convinced they were always awful, and that kid jumped out the window to get away from them. I wanted to do the same. If not for the promise of the crazy violent sex scenes I’d heard so much about, I wouldn’t have finished Antichrist. They’re at the end, and they’re shocking, grotesque and hilarious. Von Trier definitely has an eye for black-and-white films, and as always, there’s much to discuss afterwards, usually along the lines of, “See, I told you he hates women,” and “Do you think they used a stunt penis?” I’m glad I watched it, but I wouldn’t spend five more minutes with these people if you paid me.

Rabbit Hole: A

Antichrist: D+