FILM REVIEW The Descendants

TURNING HEADS George Clooney and on-screen daughter Shailene Woodley deliver star performances in ‘The Descendants’.

Say aloha to substance and subtlety


Ciara Moynihan

If one phrase were used to describe Director Alexander Payne’s approach to ‘The Descendants’, it would have to be 'low-key'. Considering it’s a comedy-drama exploring such weighty subjects as parenthood, infidelity, death and identity, that’s no mean feat.
Set in Hawaii, the film centres on Matt King (George Clooney), a Honolulu-based lawyer and sole trustee of a family trust that controls 25,000 acres of unspoiled land on the island Kaua’i. The family has owned the land since the mid 19th century, when Matt's great-great-grandfather married a Hawaiian princess.
For legal reasons, the trust is due to expire in seven years, so the King family has decided to sell the land to a developer and make a few bucks. Matt favours the deal – which can not go through without his consent – but has yet to sign on the dotted line.
Matt’s surface-level life is turned upside down, however, when his neglected wife, Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie), is seriously hurt in a boating accident. She lies in hospital in a coma, leaving him, ‘the back-up parent, the understudy’, to look after his two daughters – sassy ten-year-old Scottie (Amara Miller) and moody tear-away, 17-year-old Alexander (Shailene Woodley). 
Matt learns that his wife’s coma is permanent – bad enough – but then a ham-fisted, ill-timed father-to-daughter talk about Elizabeth’s condition winds up with Alex blurting out that her mother was having an affair. The news sends Matt into a spin, and soon no decision in his life is straightforward. 
This film could have easily slid into any number of the pitfalls that often derail the genre’s storylines – inappropriate slapstick, over-dramatisation, groan-inducing predictability, schmalzy mawkishness. However, while humour, drama and sentimentality are all present, none takes over. A fine balance is achieved.



Given his much-touted on-screen presence, Clooney himself could easily have upset that balance by dominating, but the actor eschews his fabled Gable-esque charm in favour of an understated portrayal of an awkward (particularly when running), weak-minded man that is all the more charming in his vulnerability.
Decision-making is Matt’s Achilles heel. He is perpetually caught somewhere between rabbit-in-the-headlights paralysis and rash impulsivity. Parenting is not his strong point either. After a hilariously foul-mouthed exchange between his daughters, Matt feebly admonishes Alex. “Look at the way you talk in front of me – it’s like you don’t respect authority.” The veracity of the statement is conveyed in the perfectly timed silence that follows.
Hawaii too could easily have been over-egged, but rather than opt for the all-too-easy Hawaii-as-tropical-paradise shots, Payne instead shows ugly buildings, dirty overpasses, tired plants, urban sprawl and (horror) rain. This helps to make the story more tangible, more resonant for the average punter, who generally does not live in an eternally sunny Shangri-la.
The lack of distracting environmental gloss allows the acting to shine – and shine it does. If the central players, George Clooney, Amara Miller and Shailene Woodley, turn in brilliant performances, the more peripheral do not let the side down. Matthew Lillard is delightfully dislikable as Matt’s wife’s lover, real-estate agent Brian Speer; Robert Forster plays Matt’s crabby father-in-law with aplomb; and Nick Krause’s rendering of a not-too-intelligent (despite his protestations to the contrary), jargon-spouting Beevis-and-Butt-head type is faultless.
Of course, as with any film, there are a few points to quibble with. Continuity is on occasion, a tad ropey – but only the keenest of eye will spot it. Product placement infiltrates the odd shot, but these days, that’s almost a given. In fact, resorting to such piffling criticisms only serves to underscore the film’s quality.
The Descendants is a quiet celebration of human behaviour in all its imperfect, sometimes inappropriate, glory. While it may not have cleaned up at the BAFTAs, Oscars are surely waiting in the wings.

Rating 8 out of 10