Loss is something that everyone processes differently, and much has been written about the fact that no two people mourn in the same way, which is precisely why no one has been able to craft the definitive text on grief, despite it being one of the most common philosophical and artistic motifs across all of human history. Each work examines a different side of the process of losing a loved one. Some of the most intriguing are those that centre around the process of moving on, asking questions around the length of time that is appropriate to mourn for someone before taking the steps to reignite their life – some spend the rest of their days in solitude, grieving the loss of their soulmate. In contrast, others find the strength to channel their love into a new relationship, both of which are common processes that play a part in understanding death and the impact it leaves on those who linger behind. This is the subject of Used People, in which Beeban Kidron takes the viewer back to the late 1960s, where we are thrown into the centre of the Berman family, a Jewish-American family who reside in the borough of Queens and have recently buried their patriarch, which takes an enormous toll on Pearl, his feisty but fragile wife who now has to balance being the head of the family with her own personal grief, which proves to be quite a daunting process. However, she soon meets Joe Meledandri, an Italian immigrant who lives in the same neighbourhood, and who reveals himself to be a longtime admirer of the beguiling Pearl, who initially rejects his advances before realising that she needs to move on at some point, and that starting a new relationship does not invalidate the marriage she still cherishes, and in many ways can offer a path forward towards recovery. A simple comedy garnished with moments of immense melancholy, Used People is a solid film, the kind of steadfast, well-crafted family saga that has good intentions and a strong sense of humour, even if it may not yield the most consistent results.

Used People is based on a play by Todd Graff, who adapts his own work into the screenplay for this film – and from its first moments, its stage origins are abundantly clear, almost to the detriment of the production, since this is so tightly compressed with thematic content, it feels on the verge of falling apart at the seams due to the sheer volume of ideas through which the film is filtered. This is definitely not a case of a film employing the “less is more” principle, since there are more narrative strands scattered throughout the film than anyone knows what to do with, which makes for ambitious maximalist cinema, the kind we don’t see as commonly today as we did during this period. Primarily, Graff is interested in exploring culture – the central conflict of the film is a relationship between a Jewish woman and an Italian man, both occupying the same physical neighbourhood but existing in entirely different cultural and social milieux, which is the root of the tension on which the film is built. Added onto this, we find it exploring themes of family – particularly the challenges of thornier, more dysfunctional mother-daughter relationships and how they can usually be softened through improving communication and speaking from the heart – as well as the process of getting older and finding love after a major loss. The film ties all of this together under the guise of being a story of healing, which is certainly true to an extent. However, Kidron does constantly push for more ideas to be explored, which is why Used People essentially feels like half a dozen storylines compressed into a single narrative. It’s not the first instance of such an approach in practice, but it is one that does tend to have some small challenges when it comes to implementing them effectively and with nuance, which is likely a result of the director being someone who has bold ambitions, but is somewhat far-removed from the subject and its themes to be able to offer any sense of authenticity, causing the film to feel much less endearing than it would have been in many other contexts with a more assured hand at the helm.

The most alluring aspect of Used People is most certainly its cast – this category of well-crafted, mid-level comedy seemed to be very attractive to actors at the time, since they usually had solid studio support and required very little from its performers outside of turning in passable work, since audiences were likely going to be intrigued based on their presence alone, and if anyone could deliver a great performance, that was just an additional bonus that could then later be promoted. The film is led by Shirley MacLaine, whose prolific career is only matched by her exceptional versatility. In this film, she’s the resilient but heartbroken Pearl, a woman forced to rebuild her life after the death of her husband. It’s a role that is very much within her wheelhouse, yet she does everything she can to elevate it, including leaning into the cultural specificity of playing a very particular kind of Jewish-American woman without resorting to stereotypes. She’s joined by the incredible Marcello Mastroianni in a rare English-language performance, playing the enchanting Italian neighbour who sweeps the protagonist off her feet. Arguably, the film doesn’t ask too much of the legendary actor, and it could even be accused of not using him enough (since he was clearly willing to put in the effort), but he’s still effortlessly charming and endearing as this eccentric character, and anchors the entire film. The supporting cast is populated by the likes of Kathy Bates and Marcia Gay Harden as MacLaine’s wildly different daughters – Bates is exceptional as the frumpy Bibby who desperately seeks her mother’s approval, whereas Harden does her best to elevate a one-dimensional part that is unfortunately entirely driven by the costumes she wears, rather than the value of her performance. Smaller parts by industry veterans like Jessica Tandy and Sylvia Sidney round out the film and help give a sense of gravitas to Used People, which is designed as an ensemble piece, and where every actor is doing their best with the material, even when the story around them may not be entirely aware of their willingness to commit wholeheartedly to the underlying premise.

Kidron is an interesting director insofar as she has an impressive roster of films to her name, but yet is not a distinctive filmmaker, at least not enough to be viewed as anything more than a journeyman filmmaker, which is maybe one of the primary reasons Used People feels like it lacks a clear identity. The main evidence of this comes in how the film handles its underlying themes – many ideas are woven throughout the film, but they’re not explored in enough depth, and we ultimately start to realize that it is a film that is operating mostly at the surface level, never really offering the insights or complexity it would have there been more attention to detail. Most of it comes in the form of the tone – Used People oscillates between comedy and drama, which is not entirely unheard of when it comes to this kind of narrative, but which needs more than what Kidron or Graff was willing to give to the production. It does veer towards the overly sentimental on a few too many occasions, and character motivations are similarly ambiguous, which makes for a more frustrating experience since our connection with this material depends on the extent to which we can connect with these people, and having a film that moves so rapidly through the scenes that we never quite understand who they are beyond what is explicitly told to us through exposition is barely the right approach, and is one of the several instances of the film missing the mark. It also doesn’t quite know how to balance its emotions, constantly trying to be both hilarious and heartbreaking, but not having the right mettle to make either of them effective, leading to an inconsistent narrative that shifts between two very different styles of storytelling, neither of which come together with the core themes in the way that was expected. It is certainly a valiant effort, but it doesn’t have the sense of consistency to make the most of its premise, and Kidron’s director-for-hire reputation meant that she wasn’t able to develop much of a personal connection with this material, which is evident in how casually the film gallops through what could have been a far more captivating piece.

Used People came about during an era when this kind of soft-hearted romantic comedy built around cultural dynamics was at its peak – we can easily see traces of films like Moonstruck and Crossing Delancey embedded in how the film handles its narrative and the message that underpins it. However, it does feel like a lesser version of what those films were trying to achieve, primarily because it loses focus and runs out of steam long before it reaches its terminal destination. The film is far too long, with very little justifying a two-hour running time, particularly when we realize just how many unnecessary scenes are scattered throughout the film that elongate the story and delay it from reaching a coherent point to becoming this sprawling ethnic tapestry. The performances do their best, but they aren’t enough to elevate the film beyond being primarily a bundle of trivial moments connected by a well-meaning but sometimes short-sighted set of quirks, none of which are all that effective. As a whole, Used People is a middle-of-the-road offering from a director who makes solid, well-crafted comedies, which tells a lovely story that may not reach the heights that it knew were within its wheelhouse, but still puts in enough effort to earn our fondness for the most part. Charming but slight, the film offers exactly what it says at the outset, and anything else is just false hope on the part of the viewer, even if there is a possibility for a version of this story that is massively improved to exist without some of these clear but otherwise understandable flaws.