#44 — Parenthood (Ron Howard, 1989)
It’s no bold, daring insight to note that building strong characters is one of the most vital parts of good filmmaking. This is especially true when making a comedy. It quickly becomes the difference between lining up a bunch of strained situations orchestrated for no other reason than to fulfill to set-up-followed-by-punchline imperative, and telling a story that manages to be worthwhile and terrifically funny at the same time. Develop the characters well and the humor will arise from them rather than be dispensed by them. It’s not revolutionary, but it’s amazing how rarely it occurs in practice. Of course, this is partially because it’s easier typed than done, but there also sometimes seems to be a genuine aversion to it, as if the the necessary care that goes into creating that sort of material will sacrifice a desperately craved edge.

No one was or is likely to mistake director Ron Howard or writers Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel for edgy filmmakers, but they brought a sharp professionalism to the film Parenthood. Howard already had a series of sturdy outings notched into his belt, and Ganz and Mandel had honed their craft as writers’ room toilers in Garry Marshall’s fleet of nineteen-seventies sitcoms. They knew how to build a joke, but that experience also gave them a talent for revealing character in the briskest, most effective manner possible. There’s a remarkable number of individuals in the extended family that populates the film, and each one of them needs enough time to develop their personalities, relationships and conflicts to make the entire endeavor work. There are four grown siblings, and each one of them has their own kids. Their parents are still a presence (not to mention their grandmother), providing indications of how one shaky household can spawn others, not just because unpleasant approaches get passed down, but because sometimes overcompensating to create a better environment can have its own consequences.

It’s intricate, insightful material delivered with a spring-loaded sense of humor and a wistful acknowledgment that some problems can’t be solved, only accepted. As the chief protagonist–a father with three young children, including one who’s beginning to show signs of worrisome emotional problems–Steve Martin taps into these elements to shape his performance. He’s wrung up with anxiety over the paths of his offspring and his own potential culpability in their inevitable flaws. He stays roughly contained until his emotions burst out in a rush in a school administrator’s office, his workplace, the back alley behind a pizza place or, in a rare instance of happiness triggering the escalation, a rush of exultation after a single little league catch. This was during the period when Martin, who’d made his name as a comedian who essentially built a persona on ironic abstraction, was giving a little more of himself with every new film, shifting from performer to actor from role to role. The only place he’s a father is in the movies, but his acting as Gil Buckman still has a lived-in, open-hearted quality.

He joins the rest of the gifted cast–including a trio of Oscar winners in Jason Robards, Mary Steenburgen and the spectacular Dianne Wiest–to make sure the sweet, melancholy reality of the endless challenges of family coexists with the comedy. It’s that balance, shepherded by Howard’s skillful directing, that confirms the film’s message that no matter the stomach-buckling moments, the ride of life is always worth it.