In a sense, Noah Baumbach has done little more in his entire career than to circle around his own biography, by insistently returning from time to time to the zero moment that is his parents’ divorce, which took place sometimes in the ’80s. Seen from this angle, The Squid and the Whale is the directorial effort that brought him closest to a direct confrontation with his own memories, seeing as the small details which anchor the film in a certain time and space – the plot is set in 1986 in the Park Slope neighborhood, where Baumbach used to live – are meant as some sort of hint. A story must be lived in order to be imagined, as Godard said at one point. For a filmmaker such as Baumbach, whose imagination grinds to a halt whenever it tries to overcome the steep hurdle that would take him beyond the tepid tropes of mumblecore – that is, petty intellectualism peppered with references, or cozy New York alleys that can be inscribed with the most terrible turmoils of the heart, a breezy tonality which makes the film seem to work out just as fine in an arthouse festival as it does on Netflix – Godard’s idea seems as appropriate as possible.

Victor Morozov

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Film critic and journalist; writes regularly for Dilema Veche and Scena9. He studied film theory in Grenoble, Paris, Dublin.

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