The Secret Lives of Dentists (2003; Alan Rudolph)

Alan Rudolph's films are just the things for which this site seems made. For a quarter century, discerning viewers seeking departure from the usual homogenized Hollywood fare could count on a new work from the writer-director every year or two. His studies of human nature were often ensemble pieces like those of his mentor Robert Altman, yet unique in their own rights for their moody, dreamlike atmospheres, and quirky shifts in narrative tone or genre.  Even though they were often imperfect (as are most unique works of art), they were often haunting experiences that lingered for days afterwards.

 

It was tempting to read an elegiac tone into this movie, as for years, we feared it would be his last. And if that was true, The Secret Lives of Dentists would be a fitting swan song, as it is classic Alan Rudolph, based on the description of his work above. (However, he has since made Ray Meets Helen in 2017). In the past decade, Hollywood has more focused on tentpole pictures, while many of the boutique production companies and distributors instead have their films finding audiences on streaming services (which, in a sense, is the modern equivalent of when movies found second lives on home videos, expect that this new trend needs better curation).

 

Since I haven’t read the source material for this film (Jane Smiley’s novella, The Age of Grief), I cannot say if screenwriter Craig Lucas took any liberties while adapting it for the screen, however the result is perfectly suited for the director. David and Dana Hurst (Campbell Scott, Hope Davis) are partners in life, and business, as they share a dentist practice. Beneath this charming veneer is a disquieting sense of regret, blame and deceit. David sees her wife sharing a kiss with a mysterious man backstage before her moonlighting gig as an opera singer, and deduces from there that her absences and aloofness are the results of having an affair.  

 

 

Since this is an Alan Rudolph film, however, the story is never served straight up. The drama carefully swoons into dark comedy and fantasy with the inclusion of its other major character, Slater (played by Dennis Leary). He is a soon-to-be divorced jazz musician and David's reluctant patient, who later makes a spectacle of the dentist (over a loose filling) at the same opera where he just saw his wife kissing another man.

At this juncture, Slater becomes a fantasy figure, appearing in key scenes as a chorus, prompting David to stand up to his wife. He represents the dormant ‘x’ chromosome of the emasculated husband (indeed, David’s three young daughters more gravitate to him than their mother in times of need). Through Slater's influence, though, David’s persona changes from passive to aggressive, becoming verbally abusive to his wife in an effort to give her the same pain he feels, resulting in both parties feeling more miserable. Even a moment stemming from fantasy has a stark, ugly truth. 

Before the transformation of Slater’s character, however, we’re not entirely sure that the film isn’t already a dream, swirling from David’s active imagination (we only ever see the drama from his point of view). Even the pivotal moment where he spots his wife with the other man is presented in such an elliptical way that it could just as easily be a misunderstanding. The luminous cinematography of Florian Ballhaus (son of renowned cameraman Michael Ballhaus) depicts a natural world where the fantasy world is depicted plainly enough to co-exist with our own.

The inclusion of fantasy isn’t logically wrong (even though Slater does too many physical things in our world to be merely a part of David’s mind), as it advances the narrative in unexpected ways, but in truth the film would be just as good without all of the symbolism surrounding the phantasmagoric Slater, and the overlong scene where the entire family gets sick (representing the emotional malaise that the characters have complacently endured for so long).

 

 

At its core, this is a study of a marriage falling apart, depicted with a gut-wrenching honesty that recalls the 1982 film, Shoot the Moon. The viewer helplessly watches as this relationship falls apart while neither party seems able (or willing?) to fix it. Despite the alleged betrayal from Dana, neither character is portrayed as a villain: they are presented simply as vulnerable human beings who screw up. We see them both at their worst: David as an insecure man-child, and Dana as emotionally void, self-centered. There is such a strong human element at the heart of this story that the fantasy sequences seem like extraneous touches, yet these moments provide the film's much-needed visual experience. Scenes like Dennis Leary playing trumpet out a car window or the haunting climactic shot of a man walking up the street with a suitcase, full of Rudolph's typically quirky behaviour and moody atmosphere, continue to haunt, days after viewing them.