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All Joy and No Fun

By Chris Colcord

Fort Wayne Reader

2018-09-11


The trailer for Jason Reitman’s 2018 movie Tully features a moment where the movie’s overwhelmed mother-protagonist (played by Charlize Theron) drops an iPhone on her newborn’s head in the crib and the baby immediately screams. The scene provoked such a spontaneous shock-laugh from me that I knew I’d have to see the movie, either during its release or on video. For the record, I’ve never dropped an iPhone on my girls’ heads, but that’s only because I didn’t own one when they were newborn. I have dropped television remotes on both of them, however, more times than I can remember.

The trailer ends with the late-night arrival of Tully, a night-nurse hired by the mother’s brother to help the family out. “Hi, I’m Tully,” she says. “I’m here to take care of you.” For any exhausted parent of a newborn, the notion of someone relieving the stress of care-giving—even for a few hours—is impossibly appealing and luxurious. Almost a fantasy, to imagine actually getting regular sleep.

Not many people saw Tully during its theatrical run—though it received generally positive reviews, the move only grossed $9 million after its release in early May. I didn’t see it when it was in theatres, either — couldn’t find a babysitter, ha ha — but I finally caught it on video, and the damn thing has been on my mind ever since.

It’s not an easy watch, though, for it quickly dispels any comforting notion that parenthood is all wonder and lessons learned and inexpressible joy. The mother, Margo, has two other kids beside the newborn (including an autistic son), and a checked-out husband. The family isn’t poor but they’re struggling, and the mother seems overwhelmed and teetering on the brink of an emotional breakdown. Her exhaustion is palpable from the first scene, and when the daily battles start piling up, you wonder if the family is going to make it.

Maybe too close to home for a lot of people, especially the ones who feel guilty that they don’t feel rapturous love for their children every moment of the day. But it captures the honesty of how very difficult the gig can be. I couldn’t help comparing the mother’s struggles with our own, when our kids were young, though I should point out that the movie family had it a lot tougher that we did. On our worst days, we probably had similar struggles, but the movie family had more worst days. They had a lot of worst days.

Of course, the movie is flawed — there’s a major plot twist towards the end of the movie, about Tully’s identity, that’s simultaneously inventive and something of a betrayal — but it doesn’t lessen the impact of the film. (And by the way— isn’t calling a movie “flawed” just about the laziest thing a critic can do? I’ve yet to see a movie that isn’t flawed. It’s not why I go to movies. I go to see something that illuminates some aspect of the human condition, and sometimes that means you have to suffer through some awkward scenes and undeveloped notions. And I know, I know — I called it “flawed” at the top of this paragraph, so yes, I’m lazy, too.)
What makes Tully feel so timely to me is that it underscores the angst that many parents simply can’t cop to in 2018. Nobody is supposed to have any unresolved questions about their decision to have a child in this climate. Everybody is expected to be joyful and loving and bedazzled by their current path. Discouraging words are not allowed.

There’s a great comic character in Tully —the brother’s hellbitch wife—who casually refutes everything that Margo experiences. When the sister-in-law sees the hilariously, hugely, pregnant Margo at the beginning of the film, she attempts to be sympathetic. “The ninth month,” she says, knowingly. “I could barely get to the gym during the ninth
month.” Later, when she’s talking with her husband about Margo’s plan to not use daycare, she stops her husband. “She’s disrespecting our choices,” she says in a huff.

I wonder, though, if more people relate to the sister-in-law in the movie than the mother. At my kids’ school I certainly see a lot of those 9th-month-at-the-gym types. The leader of the school’s PTO, for example, is one of those no-nonsense, hyper-energetic moms who tried to recruit us for the PTO by referencing the mother from last year who volunteered, even though she was juggling three jobs at the time. This was her sales pitch. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to scream at her, Jesus, leave the poor woman alone. Three jobs! But I guess that’s not enough.

There’s a great book by Jennifer Senior called All Joy and No Fun —the title says it all—that examines exactly this phenomenon of modern parenting where parents (especially moms) overburden themselves insanely and still feel inadequate and guilty. Some of the stats in the book are crazy—in 1965, stay-at-home-mothers (they were called
“housewives” back then) spent four hours fewer with their kids per week than modern moms who have full-time jobs.

Repeat: Four hours fewer per week.

I was shocked last year at my daughter’s school on Valentine’s Day. We did what I thought was expected for her class: bought paper valentines, had our daughter sign them, put them in envelopes. Done. When we got to school, I discovered we were the lone parents who “only” brought valentines. Everybody else had baked cookies or chocolate bars or created dazzling valentine structures with antennas and bells and whimsical flourishes. It was nuts. Every valentine was personalized and agonized over. Each batch represented hours of work and while I kinda sorta can imagine a bonding time with kids creating something and working together and learning lessons and all that, the sight of all that (oh to hell with it) STUPID LABOR exhausted and depressed me. Is this what parents are supposed to be in 2018? Reduced to nothing but being slaves of Pinterest?

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