Anne Hathaway makes a difficult wedding guest painfully convincing in Jonathan Demme’s warm, restless family drama. The celebrations run long, but the performances make this worth the awkwardness.
Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married lets a family wedding become uncomfortable without making the whole occasion seem a terrible idea. We recommend it for the patience it gives these people, including the ones who are testing everybody else’s. Rachel is the bride, but her younger sister Kym, a recovering addict played by Anne Hathaway, keeps drawing attention away from her. Jenny Lumet’s screenplay understands how quickly a gathering can revive family roles that nobody has agreed to keep playing.
Hathaway makes Kym difficult company without turning her into an exercise in unpleasantness. The self-deprecation does not make Kym easier to be around; it can be another way of insisting that everyone look at her. We winced at it, because Hathaway makes Kym’s dislike of herself sound like a demand for reassurance from people already worn out by her. The performance stays loose enough for Kym to surprise us, and for us to understand why her family keeps trying.
Rosemarie DeWitt matters just as much to the film’s success. Her Rachel gives the wedding a centre outside Kym’s troubles, making the wish for a day that belongs to somebody else entirely understandable. Bill Irwin and Debra Winger bring enough weariness to the family scenes to make the affection convincing. Demme gives the ensemble room to react, so that irritation does not settle into a fixed judgement on any one person.
Declan Quinn’s hand-held photography keeps us close enough to the gathering to feel the strain of staying polite. The restless framing can be disorientating, but it is convincing as the view of another guest trying to follow a conversation. Ford Wheeler’s production design works best as part of that crowded wedding atmosphere, never distracting us from the people. Demme’s apparently unplanned approach makes room for the pleasure of simply watching people together.
Lumet’s screenplay does rely on familiar ingredients: the troubled relative, the stored-up resentment, the occasion that everybody hopes will be different. Some of the disputes could belong to a more routine family drama, and the writing does not always match the individuality of the performances. Demme’s willingness to linger with the guests gives the film opportunities to be funny and affectionate away from Kym’s difficulties.
Music is essential to that warmth. Donald Harrison Jr. and Zafer Tawil’s contributions are heard within the celebration, giving the gathering a pleasure that does not depend on Kym becoming easier company. We were moved by the wedding music, because the film lets people enjoy being together while their difficulties remain unresolved. Editor Tim Squyres allows these passages time to develop, but he and Demme also let them continue beyond the point at which the pleasure has registered. At 113 minutes, the film feels longer than it needs to.
The sisters are worth watching together, especially for anyone tired of family dramas that make it easy to choose a side. Hathaway may draw the eye, but DeWitt keeps us thinking about the person whose occasion this is. Leave time for a conversation afterwards; agreement about Kym is unlikely.
