Review: A Real Pain

Director:  Jesse Eisenberg

Stars:  Jesse Eisenberg, Kieran Culkin, Kurt Egyiawan

There’s a scene somewhere near the middle of Jesse Eisenberg’s A Real Pain in which his character David and his cousin Benji (Kieran Culkin) go out for dinner with the fellow members of the small Polish heritage tour group they have joined, and they are moved to comment on the overbearing and intrusive nature of the pianist whose music is drowning out any sense of space or ambience in the cosy restaurant. In this moment I was stunned at the gall of Eisenberg for his little bit of observational work, as it appears slap-bang in the middle of a movie inundated with overbearing and intrusive piano scoring; meandering classical noodling that is nothing if not reminiscent of so many mid-quality Woody Allen pictures, and which affords little room for Eisenberg to eke anything stark or memorable out of his material. If this is some wry metatextual admission then bravo to the man for daring to point out his own aggravating decision. If not it’s a truly stunning bit of cluelessness. And possibly the most notable aspect of this often anonymous travelogue.

Eisenberg’s sophomore directing effort has its heart in the right place and feels like an authentic attempt to wrestle with some genuinely interesting thoughts and feelings about the nature of grief, and the tensions between the micro and the macro. We live in aggressively unprecedented times. Genocide upon genocide. Political agitation and dangerous, incessant media bias. Cataclysm upon cataclysm. When there’s all the world to grieve for, what worth is there in the emotions of one person for one person? That’s the crisis at the heart of A Real Pain, and there are precious moments where it shines through. But often in spite of rather than because of it’s choices.

David and Benji are American Jews taking a personal pilgrimage back to Poland in the aftermath of a major familial loss, the grandmother than Benji, especially, felt close to. Their inheritance from her has made the journey possible, and the beginning of the picture works quickly to establish their chalk-and-cheese relationship. Eisenberg writes and casts himself to-type. David is an articulate if insecure introvert. A neurotic Tech-guy. Benji, by contrast, is a restless extrovert, charismatic but also prone to unpredictability and a largess of character. The patter between them – which Eisenberg falls into with great comfort – isn’t particularly challenging and feels familiar from dozens of other buddy and/or odd couple movies. It’s a very traditional dynamic, and one that A Real Pain struggles to paint anew.

One thing Eisenberg does manage to capture particularly well is the renowned arrogance of Americans abroad. Benji has no qualms about giving generous feedback to their well-meaning if dry British tour guide James (Will Sharpe), as well as straddling the line between earnest and condescending in his ingratiation toward Rwandan/Canadian Judaeo convert Eloge (Kurt Egyiawan). While, elsewhere, the movie is never as animated as a detour in which the two cousins dodge train fares after missing their rightful stop. David often exists and suffers in Benji’s shadow but, when afforded a chance to speak at that same restaurant dinner, talks only about himself in an outpouring that brings home the film’s central thesis on the selfishness of grief.

Taking the advice Benji gives to James, Eisenberg does dial it down for the inevitable trip to a concentration camp, mercifully letting up on all that ambling piano tinkling so that we can somberly accept the numbing and mundane horrors of the holocaust. This kind of reverence is hard to fuck up, to be fair. And it is in this space that A Real Pain manages to breathe on its own, naturally provoking contemplation on atrocity tourism, monuments to suffering and memory, and our ability to grieve collectively when given the air and forum to do so.

But it’s relatively short-lived and the expected dramedy duties quickly reassert themselves. There are laughs to be had here. Or, rather, good-natured chuckles. But at a tempo that Alexander Payne would find comfortable. A Real Pain taps a similar vein of gentle comedic melancholy found in the likes of Nebraska, albeit less memorably. Culkin is being widely praised for his performance here as the agitated Benji, and there’s some commendable dimension to it for sure. But, as intimated, it feels exceedingly reminiscent of a dozen or so similar takes on the oversharing, bumbling chatterbox. And the amount that A Real Pain leans on Benji’s ability to use up oxygen leaves you eager for a break yourself.

Eisenberg isn’t lost for things to say about the ways in which we either allow or refuse to let ourselves mourn, but he does stumble a little when it comes to making those things impactful. Much like a whistle-stop foreign tour, as much of A Real Pain is lost in the shuffle as retained. I feel like I understand more why people take so many photos on holiday. So much of A Real Pain simply disappears from memory once its over.