Rabbit Hole (Review)

One of the most detestable genres in film is the exploitative tear-jerker. It’s the type of film which is more concerned with giving someone cancer or killing them off than creating convincing, relatable characters. It’s convinced that tragedy alone will elevate its film to transcendence. John Cameron Mitchell’s Rabbit Hole walks this line between effective drama and self-absorbed tear-fest frequently, but more often than not it comes out on the right side of things. It’s imperfect, but it’s power cannot be denied.

Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart play Becca and Howie Corbett, respectively. Eight months before the film begins, their four-year-old son was killed when he ran out into the street and was run over by a car. Understandably, all this time later they continue to grieve their loss. Rabbit Hole follows their day-to-day lives as they try to move forward and away from the pain that haunts them every day.

They try to cope in different ways. Howie is best when he remembers the days with their son, as he often sits on the couch in the middle of the night watching old home movies. Becca, meanwhile, is barely willing to admit her loss. She refuses to go to group therapy, and she keeps trying to erase the child’s image from her mind, if unsuccessfully. She is incapable of moving on while Howie seems all too intent to do just that. She’s convinced she’s going to be haunted her entire life, and if the audience didn’t know better they’d say she preferred it that way.

The best thing one can say about Rabbit Hole is that it doesn’t cheat. It avoids wallowing in the pain and instead focuses on the point when a couple decides to move on. It’s not about loss but instead about accepting loss. I can’t even pretend to imagine what it’s like to lose a child to such a sudden and devastating accident. (I don’t even know what it’s like to have a child yet, but at my age I suppose that’s preferable.) Rabbit Hole is quite good at generating a feeling of emptiness, a sense that something is missing from this house that was once there. It’s heartbreaking stuff.

Rabbit Hole is most effective in its quieter moments, most notably in scenes featuring Miles Teller as the teen who accidently ran over the Corbetts’ son. His performance has a strange, understated power to it. He doesn’t have the screaming and crying scenes that Kidman and Eckhart do, but he’s obviously just as affected. It’s obvious he’s spent many a night alone in his room crying his eyes out, but he’s willing to try and move on with his life. He’s got so much of it left, after all.

At times the film can be a little too heavy-handed for its own good, becoming intentionally excruciating when it should focus on being comforting. The performances of Eckhart and Kidman are strong (of course they are) but a few too many times scenes seem as if they could end with the actors breaking the fourth wall and taking a bow. Cue title card: “That’s acting, folks!”

The screenplay was written by David Lindsay-Abaire, who adapted his own play. There are obvious elements of staginess here, there kind of has to be, but nonetheless his script is incredibly moving. It’s perfectly coupled with John Cameron Mitchell’s straightforward direction, which lets the drama play itself out without any unnecessary visual flourishes. The power of Rabbit Hole lies in its simplicity.

Despite the occasional depressiveness, Rabbit Hole is able to leave the audience on a hopeful note. As the final scenes play out, Becca and Howie are able to finally look ahead to the future instead of focusing on the past. The film’s signature speech comes from Dianne Wiest, who plays Becca’s mother. When Becca asks if the pain ever goes away, her mother admits that it doesn’t. However, she adds that it will eventually become bearable, and the weight of it all becomes just a bit lighter. When Rabbit Hole comes to an end, Becca and Howie begin to contemplate a new life: one where they may be freed from the ghost of their son. They just might be able to start again.

Rating:  (out of 4)