Scenes From a Marriage premieres on HBO on Sept. 12.
I have a distinct distaste for remakes whose goal is “like the original, but in English this time.” Of course, there are great American remakes of foreign films that put a unique spin on the source material, but too often, Hollywood is happy to plop the same plotline into a U.S. setting, recast its roles with dazzling domestic stars, and call it a day. Now, not even a seminal 1973 Swedish mini-series is safe from this kind of uninspired treatment, as HBO Max has translated Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes From a Marriage into a five-part mini-series that boasts Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain in the leads. Though that pairing is promising, these heavy hitters can’t save this show from feeling like a shallow retread.
Scenes From a Marriage centers on a contemporary “successful” married couple in the Boston area. They seem to have it all: great jobs, a big house, a darling daughter, affluence, and a monogamous relationship nearing the decade mark. However, while husband Jonathan (Isaac) monologues about how defying traditional gender norms positively impacts their happiness, his high-powered executive wife Mira (Chastain) twitches like she’s trying to stealthily escape her skin. Something is off. And as smart as Jonathan the college professor is, he will be blindsided when she reveals she’s not happy.
Like the original mini-series, each episode focuses on a chapter of this marriage falling apart. The plotline hews closely to the original, involving disagreements about parenting, a loss of passion, and infidelity, as well as screaming matches and domestic violence. Co-writers Amy Herzog and Hagai Levi (who also directs) even name their episodes after those from Bergman’s show (“Innocence and Panic, “The Vale of Tears, “The Illiterates”). The key difference in this remake is that the roles are gender-swapped. This time around, it is the wife who gets caught up in her professional ambitions and extramarital interests, while the husband is the primary caregiver shocked to learn his contributions have been deemed insufficient by his partner. While Jonathan blathers on about how gender roles have evolved, the show itself treats this switcheroo as little more than a gimmick. Because the show focuses so intently on their household (few other characters will appear on screen), any assertions about gender feel anecdotal at best. When Mira defends one her shocking choices with “Men do this all the time,” it feels a crass misuse of feminist talking points on double standards.
Perhaps if this show were a ’70-set period piece, Levi’s shallow exploration of gender dynamics in heterosexual marriage might have played better. However, since Bergman’s mini-series, a plethora of filmmakers who were inspired by him have mined this battle-of-the-sexes terrain, creating emotionally charged and intellectual films like Robert Benton’s Kramer vs. Kramer, Woody Allen’s Husbands and Wives, Richard Linklater’s Before Midnight, Mike Nichols’ Closer, and Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story. Walking in the footsteps of a master, Levi fails to define his own path. He offers a barrage of bickering scenes that feel like cliches because they’ve become staples in the wake of Bergman’s work. So, this Scenes From a Marriage feels less revolutionary and more like a hollow revival.
Perhaps “revival” is a better way to think of this remake. Levi has not mined the original to make some bold new point about marriage, monogamy, or heartbreak. However, he has offered a stage for two of the greatest actors working today to face off in love and war. Reunited for the first time since J.C. Chandor’s A Most Violent Year, Isaac and Chastain are mesmerizing together. Both have dizzying screen presences that bring life to dialogue that feels well worn. Beyond that, they have a natural ease with each other. When the resentments bubble up, it hits harder because the intimacy established feels authentic.
Playing a man repressed by his need to project pleasantness, Isaac delivers a performance that is subtly heartbreaking. His soft tone is always in apology mode. His body quakes in a moment of repressed disappointment. His trembling smile sends shockwaves. In this crouched position of coddling, even the way he packs a suitcase feels tragic. Every quiet scene of desperation builds to a storm, where Isaac will grow from crackling jabs to booming resentments. Meanwhile, Chastain begins with this nervous frenzy, like a caged animal desperate to flee. Her Mira evolves, finding a new confidence that comes off initially cold before blooming to radiant but reckless. Together, their scenes of tenderness are as electrifying as those of catastrophic conflict. Plus, they get an early assist from celebrated actors, Nicole Beharie and Corey Stoll, who play a couple whose tensions explode over an awkward dinner party. Truly, Beharie is so ruthlessly riveting in this sequence that she might well score Emmy or Golden Globe notice for Best Supporting Actress. However, these are great performances despite a lackluster script that offers no memorable dialogue or distinctive moments of pleasure or pain.
Levi doesn’t have a strong stamp on this material. The words still sound like Bergman’s. The cinematography, made up of gentle drifting and clingy close-ups, offers nothing inspired. A color palette coated in warm golds is pretty, but becomes banal across this tumultuous tale of love and loss. Even the powerful performances can’t keep it from feeling redundant and overlong. Notably, Bergman trimmed down his mini-series into a feature-length film (which is also available on HBO Max). Perhaps Levi should have taken a cue from that recut, then his marriage story wouldn’t be such a slog.