While his name is now synonymous with a very particular kind of reliable independent cinema that offers exactly what it promises and doesn’t always inspire much passion outside of potentially having some intriguing narrative elements, and which are mostly adherent to the kind of star-studded, lightweight dramas and quirky comedies that speak to the neuroses of the contemporary American intellectual (and thus giving him the reputation as a younger version of Woody Allen), we sometimes forget that Noah Baumbach is quite a radical filmmaker, someone willing to take risks and produce films that are extremely uncomfortable, drawing on the most awkward and intense ideas in his consistent pursuit to reveal new sides of the human condition, which he’s been exploring nearly a quarter of a century. One of his first major successes, insofar as it was the one where the industry finally started to take him seriously rather than categorising him in that class of ambitious but otherwise negligible young independent directors, was The Squid and the Whale, which is one of a small handful of films in which Baumbach was drawing on his own experiences. In this instance, he tells the story of a pair of brothers growing up in Brooklyn in the mid-1980s, and who are forced to deal with the sudden decision of their parents to divorce, which not only divides the family in a literal sense, but causes them to drift apart from one another emotionally, leading to an abundance of discord amongst a formally very content family, albeit one in which the happiness was clearly surface-level and mostly insincere. A very simple film, but one that is brimming with meaning and complex ideas that manifest in a range of emotions that underpin every element of the film, The Squid and the Whale is a minor masterpiece, an exceptionally well-crafted, meaningful voyage into the mind of its director that has remained one of his most celebrated works, for reasons that barely need to be explained considering the depth and nuance with which he approaches every aspect of this film, which more than earns its status as one of the most profoundly compelling works of independent cinema of its era.

For some, the candour with which Baumbach addresses his own personal experiences can either be respectable or hopelessly self-indulgent, and it’s entirely possible that our reaction would shift between different films, since it is obvious that his approach differs between them, much like the issues being addressed. It has always seemed like he has used filmmaking as a form of therapy, mainly an opportunity to acquire the sense of catharsis that comes through working through one’s trauma and personal quandaries. The Squid and the Whale is based around his parents’ divorce when he was a teenager, with the older of the two protagonists supposedly being a surrogate for the director (and his commitment to making characters based on himself profoundly flawed and perhaps even outright unlikable is quite notable), focusing on the first few weeks and months after their separation, taken from the perspective of both the divorcing couple and their two children, the family’s attempts to stay as close as possible while adjusting to this new way of life proving to be a failure. This is clearly a very personal story for Baumbach, who chooses to shoot the entire film on grainy Super 16 stock, as well as making extensive use of handheld cameras, which seems like a decision based on budgetary constraints, but in reality actually has thematic purpose, taking on the appearance of a series of home movies filmed in the 1980s, giving it a sense of authenticity. The lo-fi, intimate aesthetic also makes it seem like the director is peering voyeuristically into his own parents’ declining marriage, the entire film having the sense of an intimate series of moments in which Baumbach is using this film as an opportunity to work through his own personal issues. Some may argue that a film is not always the best medium in which to conduct such brutally honest introspection, but its clear that when it is done well, it can be truly remarkable and lead to some revealing, honest insights into not only the director’s past, but offering astute observations on both marriage and the eventual decline that many couples have to endure, and the confusion that can arise amongst their children witnessing the heartwrenching process of their parents gradually falling out of love one with one another, an ordeal from which it is quite difficult to recover, as any child of divorce will likely attest.

One of the more peculiar but captivating qualities of The Squid and the Whale comes in the characterisation of the main protagonists, who are exceptionally well-developed, but in a way that makes us wonder what Baumbach was trying to convey with each one of them. The four primary characters are all deeply flawed individuals, and none of them come across as being particularly likable – but yet, we can’t help but be endeared to them, since they’re so well-written and developed to the point where they feel like fully-dimensional, complex characters with lives outside the confines of this film, rather than just archetypes thrown into the narrative. A large part of the success belongs to the cast – it represents an early performance by Jesse Eisenberg, who was already growing into a tremendous young actor, as well as the wonderful Owen Kline, who may not have launched a particularly notable acting career afterwards, but has started to make a case for himself as a promising filmmaker in his own right. However, its not controversial to mention how the main element of The Squid and the Whale that is most recognizable are the performances given by Jeff Daniels and Laura Linney, the former delivering perhaps his greatest work to date, whereas the latter continues to find the most well-concealed nuances beneath a very difficult character, perhaps the only one whose perspective we don’t get to see quite as much as the others. Daniels and Linney have the unenviable task of playing a pair of characters that go from being deeply in love, to slowly growing to resent each other before the central conflict is introduced, after which the vitriol becomes almost overwhelming, before eventually circling back to an unconventional sense of affection shared between the two – not the kind that implies that they will get back together, but rather the enormous empathy they begin to feel to one another, enough to move past the hatred they feel for each other. The entire cast (including those in smaller parts) are extraordinary, and help anchor The Squid and the Whale, making it far more captivating than seemed possible.

Based on the premise, execution and interpretation of these characters by the actors, its quite clear that The Squid and the Whale is a film in which quite a bit happens, which makes the simplicity of the film almost feel like a betrayal of its wildly ambitious ideas. Yet, we find that Baumbach is usually at his best when he isn’t aiming to be too audacious, and instead focusing in the smallest and most intricate of details. This is an exceptionally funny film, which may be surprising to those who venture into this film with solely a cursory understanding of the narrative – the sombre premise and the sometimes harsh execution is only one component, and the overall experience is one that does veer towards the comedic on more than one occasion, which gives it a wonderful sense of humour that is wry and observational more than it is outrageously funny. The comedic elements exist to soften the blow of the more intense sides of the story, and we find that Baumbach is as adept at handling tragedy as he is comedy. The key to this film and its gradual success is that it isn’t aiming to be something more than a simple, straightforward narrative, on either side of the extreme. It is neither an overwrought, heavy-handed bundle of emotional eruptions nor is it a cold and calculating work of didactic psychology. Instead, it’s a complex and poignant character study that tempers its emotions and wears them on its sleeve, making its central themes known from the outset and focusing on exploring them in as much detail as possible. It flourishes into a bitingly funny but genuinely heartfelt examination of a marriage in decline, filtered through numerous perspectives and thus taking a mainly objective view that allows for several different ideas to eventually emerge, creating a wholeheartedly entertaining and genuinely very charming comedy about one of the most serious and sombre concepts imaginable, which Baumbach miraculously manages to examine through careful, insightful commentary that is as funny as it is moving.

Despite having amassed an abundance of acclaim and accolades for a number of his later films, there is an argument that The Squid and the Whale is Baumbach’s best film, or at least the one that contains both his strongest writing and most assured direction. Considering the small scope but expansive set of ideas and emotions embedded within the film, it’s not difficult to subscribe to this opinion, especially when we start to see the intricate weaving of ideas that drive the narrative and make it so profoundly compelling. This is a film populated by extremely flawed individuals, but where absolutely none of them are the villain, and instead stand as victims of their own shortcomings and delusions of grandeur. The performances are extraordinary, and truly help infuse Baumbach’s complex screenplay with so much life and candour. More than anything else, the director’s willingness to explore his own experiences in this semi-autobiographical narrative feels like a vital step to understanding his artistic sensibilities. He brings so much humour and heart to the film, and it feels like every moment is filled with both joy and melancholy, which is a strange approach to exploring something as serious as divorce, but it is ultimately the central theme of this film, not the element that keeps us most engaged. Instead, its the heartfelt humour and wonderfully eccentric, offbeat approach to the traditional family drama, coupled with a moving exploration of two young men gradually coming of age during a very difficult time in their lives, which feels so rich and poignant, lending itself to both comedy and drama in a way that Baumbach has mastered over the years, but which has never been more effective than in this fascinating and captivating film.