Thanks to Jesse Eisenberg for bringing talkative films back to me

I've always been a talkative movie enthusiast. Unfortunately, I've been seeing fewer and fewer "talkative" films in recent years. I can't remember the last time I watched one. Was it "A Rainy Day in New York"? Back then, discussing Woody Allen wasn't as difficult as it is now. Anyway, precisely because it'd been so long since I'd seen a good talkative film, the arrival of "A Real Pain" was like rain in a drought for me. I thank Jesse Eisenberg for showing us that someone is still making talkative films, and doing it quite well.

The plot of "A Real Pain" is simple: David (played by Eisenberg) and his cousin Benji (played by Kieran Culkin) travel to Poland on a tour to honor their deceased grandmother and visit her hometown. Along the way, Benji's free-spirited style contrasts sharply with David's reserved, conservative personality. Both seem to carry some unspoken pain, and while their journey appears to stir something in them, it also seems to change nothing.

From a filming perspective, talkative movies might seem simple. The demands on a director's staging abilities aren't as high compared to other film genres, like musicals or action films. However, from a screenwriting perspective, crafting good talkative films isn't easy, because they can't rely on major plot twists to capture the audience's attention. Instead, they need to use extensive everyday dialogue to reveal the characters' emotions and feelings. This requires screenwriters to be more meticulous in writing dialogue. It also depends on whether the actors can accurately portray the characters' personalities.

I identify "A Real Pain" as a talkative film, and it doesn't have many dramatic plot points. Most of the story unfolds through dialogue between David and Benji. I must say, Eisenberg is really suited for this type of film. His acting style has always been rather singular, sometimes even boring. No matter what film he's in or what role he plays, he seems to be playing himself. He just shows different aspects of himself—obsessive, nerdy, and introverted. But fortunately, he's never had that mindset of needing to challenge himself and prove his versatility. The roles he's played are all suitable for him. Gradually, this has evolved into his unique acting style, which fits perfectly with his actual character. Eisenberg used his signature 1.5-times fast-forward talking speed and somewhat stiff body language to perfectly portray David, a middle-class man with OCD, living a perfectly orderly life, who relies on medication to suppress his condition and tries hard to appear normal. David's like an NPC in a video game, who is often easily overlooked. But he's not without his story. From details like his medication, his monologues at the dinner table, and his moments of zoning out, we can sense his almost rigid state. Through Benji's dialogue, the audience learns that David was once an enthusiastic, emotionally expressive teenager. But now he's become very calm and reserved, just like everyone else. David believes this is the normal state of being. He's no longer a teenager, and he has his own job, wife, and children—he's just doing what everyone else does. Benji, however, seems to reject this so-called normal life entirely. He's like a pessimistic idealist living in reality. He tries hard to "wake up" David and others whom he believes have fallen asleep, but like Prometheus, he attempts this in a state of inevitable failure.

My impression of Culkin was still stuck on Roman from "Succession." He seemed to always play characters who aren't particularly bright. But in "A Real Pain," his performance completely overturned Roman's image. I initially thought he was just being himself because his performance was so compelling. At the beginning of the film, I found myself viewing the story from David's perspective—he's constantly worried about Benji being late, doing something inappropriate that'd cause trouble for both of them, or saying something offensive that'd make everyone uncomfortable. Compared to David's perpetually prime attire, Benji's shorts and messy hair seemed carelessly inappropriate. But as the story progressed, I found myself shifting to Benji's perspective. I saw how everyone in this world seems to carry an incurable numbness. They're afraid to build genuine relationships with others, afraid to offend people, and afraid to express their true feelings. And they feel powerless about it. Meanwhile, Benji seems to be living life intensely, trying hard to bring genuine emotions to those around him. But he himself is constantly on the verge of falling apart. Right up until the end of the film, David completes the journey as planned and flies back to America. But Benji decides to stay. What exactly is holding him back? David doesn't know, and neither do we. We see the camera pan across people waiting at the airport, before finally settling on Benji's face. He looks like everyone else, but we know he might not be like everyone else. I mean, I even feared seeing a caption at the end: Six months after this journey, Benji took another full bottle of sleeping pills, and this time he succeeded.

Yes, he's totally capable of doing so. Although I share no family background or ethnic history with Benji, I feel I can understand him. I've also thought about ending it all. Ten years ago, I was chronically depressed, but didn't know who to ask for help or how to express my feelings. I wasn't sad; I just wasn't happy. My soul felt separated from my body. My consciousness was always detached, so I could only watch my body go through life. This state lasted for several years, and I don't know how I got better. I never even thought about seeing a therapist. But I clearly remember during those years, I'd wake up every day wondering: should I continue living today?

I know that depressive moods/depression and bipolar disorder are different. I'm not saying Benji and I are the same. His performance just reminded me of my past state. With mental illness being so common now, depression isn't a novel topic anymore. I even have this thought: if everyone saw a therapist for a psychological evaluation, we all would probably have some issues. Who doesn't have trauma? Whose trauma is truly understood? Social media exposes us to people's traumas and provides a platform for us to have constructive discussions about them, which could potentially alleviate the victims' pain. But as a pessimist, I think it might not help in the end— as seen in Benji's case. Be it a journey, a hug, or a seemingly heart-to-heart night talk, none of these can ultimately change anything. At the end of the day, we all face our own misunderstood real pain alone.

When I realized this, I also sensed the difference between Eisenberg and Allen. Allen's films are witty and humorous. He mocks modernity but seems to enjoy its contradictions. But Eisenberg is fundamentally a pessimist. He doesn't seem to think his films can really change anything. "A Real Pain" is just his sigh about modernity, just as he said in an interview at the 2024 New York Film Festival: "[The film] really is in some ways a kind of push and pull between something that's absurd and hilarious and also representative of a kind of grief about the world, a grief about modernity."