The Humans review – a masterful family drama moves from stage to screen | Toronto Film Festival

But Karam’s intimate and increasingly oppressive drama is a marvel not only of writing (her play was also selected for a Pulitzer) or acting (a monumental Jayne Houdyshell reprise her Tony award-winning role alongside ‘a flawless cast not transferred) but overall design, a rare journey from stage to screen that is worth it. It is reminiscent of Florian Zeller’s equally inventive and surprising adaptation of the Father, another apartment family drama that instantly sidestepped the dreaded accusation of directing by cleverly playing with space and reality. In Karam’s ruthless portrayal of a weathered Chinatown pre-war duplex, every scuff, stain, and paint bubble is unsettlingly examined repeatedly, transforming what might have been a rather staid setting into a place that live and breathe with the characters. Its camera never settles for the bare minimum of point and shot that so many similar films would have been satisfied with and instead we always explore the intricacies of a small frame in one place, finding more depth and depth. character in each image.

This is the new home for Brigid (Beanie Feldstein) and Richard (Steven Yeun), a relatively new single couple who have just moved in, the furniture is still waiting to be delivered. They welcome Brigid’s family for a Thanksgiving meal: her sister, Aimee (Amy Schumer), arriving from Philadelphia and her parents, Erik (Richard Jenkins) and Deirdre (Houdyshell), as well as Erik’s mother, Momo (June Squibb), all from Scranton, PA.

There is the familiar mix of conflict, resentment, and secrecy, but all of them are presumably mundane and Human quality for them (stoicism over sensationalism) and Karam’s delicate handwriting grips us firmly even as they unfold quietly. But while his characters may not turn up their volume, his sound design takes over, a collection of thumps, crackles, and muffled, intrusive noises that push us to the edge of our seat, where we stay for the major part. part of the film. It’s been said countless times about the play before, but Karam treats his family drama like it’s an eyesore (he used to call it “a family play that’s kind of infected with my love of the genre. thriller “), a daily spiral shrouded in a creeping, ever-unknowable darkness (light bulbs go out at an alarming rate and, like many Manhattan apartments, natural light is almost nowhere to be found). The new house becomes something of a haunted house (although New Yorkers will find it oddly charming) and, like the best examples of genre fiction, it brings up the characters’ fears.

There is the disappointment, the shame and worst of all, the terror in the pit of my stomach that maybe that is it, that the big change you were hoping for (a new girlfriend, a new job, a better body). , better health) will probably never come and the overwhelming nudity of this new apartment forces them all to face this devastating fact, for better or for worse. Karam has a keen ear for how people actually interact with each other and every slight encounter and interpersonal dynamic here seems carefully considered, the people exist rather than the characters playing. There are familiar edges for parents – the mother babbling about neighborhood gossip, the father worried about safety – but we’re so far from an easy, rote caricature, Karam’s poise of the general with the specific transforming each person into someone we never doubt is real. Despite the film’s foundations on stage, it avoids the expected deluge of monologues, with information and backstory skillfully revealed instead. He allows moments to sit, with small shreds of dialogue or telling facial reactions, his actors let breathe despite the suffocating atmosphere.

There isn’t a single wrong note among their ensemble that bickers, pushes and soothes with such relaxed ease, it’s a surprise that they haven’t done this same performance together twice a day over the course of of the last year. Schumer is a special surprise in his first compelling dramatic performance, his palpable, aching grief surfacing in a painfully recognizable call with an ex before an outburst of tears in front of Jenkins, whom we’ve seen in vaguely similar but never so heartbreaking territory before, a father trying to maintain his place at the head of the table as his grip slowly recedes. It might not come as a big surprise that the biggest work here is done by Houdyshell, who has been with his character for so long it’s almost second nature, but his remarkably lived performance is still surprisingly impressive, his face subtly registering the impact of every little insult or embarrassment. It’s a deceptively small moment, but her hesitation over which dessert to choose, after digging her weight, is truly overwhelming.

There are references to a culture change, an age gap, a difference in class and religion, but Karam never positions his drama as the one we need now. It is a time and a place, but comfortably, quietly, with confidence. There is something both reassuring and terrifying about all of this, the resilient warmth and family friendliness providing comfort while the existential horror of what it all represents cools us down simultaneously. Humans are going to haunt me and it’s going to haunt you too.