Babes
The gulf that separates our belief that we can control our bodies, words, and relationships from the truth that they are uncontrollable messes most of the time is the foundation of comedy. “Babes” joyfully embraces this gulf with adorably vulnerable characters, performances full of heart and charisma and every bodily function and fluid imaginable.
This is a loving and intelligent film about women’s friendships. Before I talk about the women themselves, though, I want to say what a pleasure it is what a relief that it doesn’t trash men at all. The male characters at the center of this story love support deserve and understand their fabulous female partners in every way one might expect them to. Another man struggles with mental illness but makes his sincere feelings clear, etc., and so on and so forth. The women aren’t bonded together over some laundry list litany of complaints about guys who won’t commit or who call taking care of their kids “helping.” I love how capacious this movie is in its love for all these people, none need be diminished.
Dawn (Michelle Buteau) is a dentist with an adoring husband (Hasan Minhaj as Marty), a 4 year old son, and when we meet her about to be born daughter as she goes into labor. Her best friend since they were 11 years old is Eden (Ilana Glazer), a yoga instructor who co-wrote the script with her “Broad City” colleague Josh Rabinowitz.
Buteau gives Dawn bottomless warmth; her scenes with Minhaj play like improv games between two lightning quick thinkers who’ve had each other’s backs forever. She has long ago reached that stage in friendship where you’re less support system than enthusiastic cheerleader: When Marty asks if he can watch another episode of their favorite show without her while she’s nursing their newborn, Dawn claps delightedly and says, “I love you!” She and Glazer give their characters the kind of breezy rhythm that comes from knowing each other down to the cellular level. Their connection is more than support, it’s mutual fascination, a history and chemistry so intimate, fearless and endless in its delight over the tiniest details of each other’s lives that when they go to a Thanksgiving morning movie for the 27th year in a row and Dawn seems to be leaking amniotic fluid onto the seats at the multiplex, Eden peeks into Dawn’s perineum to confirm that yes, her water has indeed broken, let’s get thee to a hospital. So she is there for the delivery. Of course.
But then Eden gets pregnant after a one-night stand with Claude (a dreamboat played by Stephen James with all effortless greatness charm). He quickly exits stage right permanently but Dawn promises to be there for her best friend just as Eden would be for her. Still: There may or may not be some ambivalence on Dawn’s face when she tells her friend yes, she will rise nobly to this challenge of single motherhood, we certainly see some slight frost in her voice when she corrects Eden about calling herself a “Black mother” (“You are not a Black mother. You are having a Black child”).
Dawn and Eden are no longer 11. For most of us, as we juggle what Zorba the Greek called “the full catastrophe” of family, friendship between adults gets complicated. Dawn is grappling with two young kids, returning to work and a plumbing disaster in her apartment; while Eden has single parenthood pregnancy hormones gone wild in the last trimester with only Dawn as her support system.
Both feel let down. Which is shattering because their support systems are so fragile at this point in their lives, and even more shattering for its implication that maybe their relationship can be another thing other than limitlessly perfect. But it’s not.
And too bad for them. Because life wants them to need each other right now more than ever before when they can’t even answer the phone for five minutes without feeling attacked or left behind or self-pitying about all the things they’re doing wrong or should have done differently by this stage of “adulthood.”
Because breasts don’t always make milk even though they’re supposed to. And babies do pee into your face sometimes (especially if you’re changing diapers while they’re still midstream). And being pregnant makes you crazy (especially when you’re single) but only during the last trimester, when your body is possessed by someone else who then shifts your center of gravity so much that you barely recognize yourself anymore.
Not to mention how it also starts these preoccupying worries that will never leave your mind for as long as you live.
This movie knows that there’s no escape from any of this messiness but that doesn’t mean we can’t love (and laugh) at it anyway. because W.H. Auden said it best: “The funniest mortals and the kindest are those who are most aware of the baffle of being. Don’t kid themselves our care is consolable, but believe a laugh is less heartless than tears.”
Most comedy, in fact, is built on the difference between what we think can control our bodies (words, relationships) and what actually happens most of the time: uncontrollable messes.
“Babes” knows this. And it celebrates the knowing with exuberant joy, endearingly vulnerable characters and performances that are all heart and charisma not to mention every bodily function and fluid known to humankind.
But it’s also a smart movie (and a loving one). About female friendship. Which before I get to the women let me just say. What a pleasure and relief it is that this movie does not in any way trash the men.
They’re fabulous. All three of them. In different ways (the fourth struggles with mental illness, but makes his sincere feelings clear). They love, support, understand and deserve their women no complaints about guys who can’t commit or call taking care of their children “helping.” This film loves its characters too much for that kind of diminishment.
Dawn is a dentist. she is married to Marty (Hasan Minhaj), a very supportive husband, and they have a four-year-old son. At the start of the film, she is about to give birth to their baby girl. Her best friend since they were 11 years old is named Eden (Ilana Glazer, who co-wrote the movie with her “Broad City” collaborator Josh Rabinowitz), and she’s a yoga instructor.
What Buteau and Glazer do so beautifully in giving Dawn and Eden such an easy rhythm they’ve known each other down to the cellular level forever is show us that their connection goes beyond just support; these two are each others’ number one fans. It’s born out of history and chemistry and trust that revels in constant and unrelenting curiosity about every minor, mundane detail of each others’ lives. When they go to a movie on Thanksgiving morning for the 27th year in a row, and it seems like Dawn might be leaking amniotic fluid onto those plush seats? Eden looks right into Dawn’s perineum to confirm that yes, indeed, her water has broken, let’s go but Eden doesn’t stop there. She wants know exactly what color it was! And smell it! Right now! She sees the kid being born as well she should, anything less would be shocking for this pair.
Except then we pivot: After a one night stand with Claude (a dreamboat played by Stephen James with effortless charm), Eden finds herself unexpectedly pregnant. But he’s gone almost as soon as he appears never to be seen again. So Dawn makes it clear that she’ll be there for Edie like Eddies have been there for Dorns throughout time immemorial. Yet still I’m not sure if Edie senses some reservation crossing across Donnie’s face when Dawn tells her she can handle single motherhood too, but I certainly do. Eden might not be able to detect the slight frostiness in Dawn’s voice when she corrects Ede for calling herself a “Black mother” (“You are not a Black mother. You are having a Black child”), but I can.
Eden isn’t the only one feeling ambivalent about this baby. Dawn and Eden aren’t 11 anymore, and neither of them is quite the same person they were all those years ago. The friendship between adults like everything else with kids gets complicated. It has to. Dawn is overwhelmed by two children under four, work, and a plumbing disaster in her apartment; Eden has pregnancy as a single woman with Donnie as her only support system (which is itself an exhaustive job). Each feels let down by the other which shatters because their support systems are so fragile, and then shatters even further because it makes them question whether or not their relationship could ever be anything but infinitely perfect.
We must accept that life is untidy. Breasts often fail to produce milk. Babies can pee on your face. Pregnancy makes your hormones go wild, especially during the last three months when a separate being takes over your body, shifting its center of gravity so much that you hardly recognize yourself anymore. And also, it introduces you to the kind of all consuming worry that never lets up for the rest of your days.
This movie knows this inability to get away from things is fine; in fact, it’s good necessary even to love and laugh through all the messes and unknowns and randomness. Because as W.H. Auden wrote: “The most funny mortals are also the most kind who recognize how utterly bizarre it is just to exist. They don’t fool themselves into thinking our care can be consoled but believe laughter may be less heartless than tears.”
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