In the film “A Big Chill,”a funeral reunites old friends who have not seen each other since their college days at the University of Michigan. Rather than focusing on death, we narrow in more on the messy, humorous, tender ways we handle loss together.
It starts with an ordinary family moment — a young son singing to his father while they play in the bath — the mother picks up the phone, bearing bad news and a single tear. The stunted reactions that follow can only be described as the physical embodiment of Munch’s “The Scream:” faces frozen between deep sadness and disbelief, immediately highlighting how grief can disrupt an ordinary life as well as a privileged one.
An intimate group gathers at a quaint church; wooden pews creak as they grace them, a single modest chandelier hangs high, and the low hum of an organ keeps the mourners company. Even in grief there are flickers of life: some pass cheeky smiles despite spouses near, some share their warmth and weight by holding their loved ones close, and one straggler even bursts in like a late cowboy, swinging the church doors open like a saloon.
Notably, Jeff Goldblum, as he often does, is the voice of comical reason, if that is such a thing. He makes the movie alive, bringing both the audience and the characters back in with a quick laugh whenever they drift into somber moments. Glenn Close, grounded in her sadness, often breaks the movie’s moments of silence with her heart and tears, contrasting lighter moments by Goldblum. This shows the complexity and variety of human emotion, how grief can coexist with separate emotions, especially humor.
Beyond the church scenes, John Bailey’s cinematography captures raw images. Characters cry in the shower to reckless indulgence, paint the impulses they struggle to control, attempt to make an Olympic jump like a cartoon character would. Bailey’s work illustrates emotional vulnerabilities and impulses while balancing comedy and pathos.
Adorned with a wonderful cast as well as an equally memorable soundtrack, “The Big Chill” is a time capsule. The Motown-heavy soundtrack evokes the baby boomer generation, reinforcing themes. Motown music is relevant as it is more than nostalgia: it’s a storytelling device.
One way to greatly summarize this film is to call it a Reagan-era period piece – a time of heightened conservatism, unemployment, a growing gap between the rich and poor and the ongoing Cold War. Characters throughout the movie reflect on their 1960s ideals and their 1980s compromises.
Through these choices, writer and director Lawrence Kasdan achieves his goal of exploration of the shift between youthful ideals and the changes of adulthood, showing the dramatic change from hip bell-bottoms to suburban suits.
While it does leave a less-than-sweet taste in the mouth at times due to the unexpected forecast of a storm, the eight-member group share what bores or frustrates their lives.
It was rather odd that they did not talk about their friend who passed. A deeper reflection on him would’ve been fascinating, especially with the variety of characters. Perhaps this is deliberately loose, but such a choice is a little too vague.
Meg Tilly delivers an endearing performance; she is the much younger girlfriend of the deceased. An observer, spontaneous and relaxed, she is very much an anchor for younger audiences, being a point of relatability while also being a symbol of youth and continuation beyond the group’s nostalgia.
If such a thing as a “boomer-ified” version of “Breakfast Club” existed, “The Big Chill” would be it. Both are explorations through distinct archetypes and confine characters to a limited setting with humor amid serious themes.
For those who can appreciate “The Breakfast Club,” “Forrest Gump” and “Baby Boom,” as well as anyone reflecting on friendship, nostalgia and transition, “The Big Chill” is worth the watch. It is especially recommended for those nearing the end of their college endeavors or navigating life’s early compromises.
“The Big Chill” screens at the Row House Cinema in Lawrenceville from Sept. 19–25.
