A family gathers for Thanksgiving at the New York apartment of one of their number. The evening is plagued by loud sounds from the upstairs neighbours and big boomy noises from the family members as they find things to fight about (mostly success or failure). Performances are finely turned in this psychodrama the like of which I have seen too often and which offers nothing of substance to the subgenre. The visual approach is pleasant, highlighting the darkness at the edge of all lighted areas, until you lose count of how many shots of the characters captured in frames of doorways. While it is necessary to make family groups like these explosive or snide or bitchy there should also be a balance struck to give at least some of them enough empathy or even development for viewers to chew on. This was adapted for the screen by its author and director from his Broadway play. I can imagine the play having some impact just from that extra charge of live performance. It feels as though we are being promised something for the end and there is something that happens but it's so inconsequential (I will not call it subtle) that it happens, passes and the whole thing finds a place to end. And, sorry, while I hate the term pretentious used as derision but anyone who calls their play The Humans is just asking for it.
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