“May December” (American; 2023; drama/dark humor; running time 1 hour, 53 minutes; directed by Todd Haynes, written by Samy Burch, based loosely on the life of Mary Kay Letourneau; rated R for sexual content, brief graphic nudity, language, drug use; in limited theaters Nov. 17, 2023, streaming on Netflix on Dec. 1, 2023) takes a delicate, strange-but-true, soap opera situation and digs deep into it, mining it for cringes and uncomfortable laughs without mocking it or passing judgement on those involved, even though nearly everyone else in the world has done just that. Haynes pulls off this high-wire balancing act with confident direction, even tone, witty dialogue, note-perfect performances and a throwback score that both enhances the drama and contributes to the laughs. “May December” is a talker, a thinking-person’s film worth dissecting and discussing while also providing the sort of titillation we’ve come to expect from far inferior Netflix offerings. It might just be the best movie of the year.
A little background: Letourneau was a 34-year-old married mother of four and sixth-grade teacher in Washington state when, in 1996, she started having a physical relationship with one of her students, Vili Fualaau, then 12 years old. Letourneau was convicted on two counts of second-degree child rape and gave birth to a daughter, Fualaau’s child, while awaiting sentencing. Letourneau served a short sentence and defied no-contact orders to resume her relationship with Fualaau. A judge revoked a prior plea agreement and reinstated a prison sentence. Letourneau gave birth to another of Fualaau’s children while in prison. They were married upon her release (when he was of age) and remained together until August 2019. Letourneau died July 6, 2020, from colorectal cancer. She was 58.
“May December” is and isn’t the story of Letourneau and Fualaau, and it is and isn’t the center of Haynes’ film. A fictionalized version of events is the launching point for what happens in the film, but Haynes and writer Burch aren’t here to rehash the story or focus merely on the what they or the audience might think of Letourneau’s and Fualaau’s inappropriate relationship. Frequent Haynes collaborator Julianne Moore plays Gracie Atherton-Yoo, a woman around age 60 (the story is set in 2015) who was part of a tabloid scandal 23 years previously. She and her husband, Joe Yoo (Charles Melton), live an idyllic life on an island off Savanah, Ga., and are preparing to become empty-nesters with the high school graduation of twins, a son and daughter. Joe, a hen-pecked husband whose wife treats him like a child, is 36 – the same age Gracie was when she began a physical relationship with Joe, then 13, when the two worked together at a local pet store. Joe is an X-ray technician whose hobby is raising monarch butterflies to replenish the world population; Gracie stays busy baking cakes for friends and neighbors. Both seem happy — “seem” being the key word. The Yoos are about to welcome mildly successful actor Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman) into their home because Elizabeth, who just so happens to be 36 like Joe, is preparing to play Gracie in a “serious” independent film. Elizabeth assumes the role of investigative reporter as she immerses herself in Gracie’s and Joe’s lives and interviews those who have been impacted (Gracie’s first husband, Gracie’s son who was Joe’s classmate, Gracie’s defense lawyer) by the couple’s relationship. In barely noticeable increments, Elizabeth becomes a version of Gracie, through her mannerisms, speaking voice, fashion choices and childlike naivety. How will her presence affect Gracie and Joe? Won’t it pull the scabs off old wounds? Will Joe wonder how he went from missing out on his childhood to being an empty-nester at age 36 while barely noticing?
Throughout her stay with the Yoos, Elizabeth reminds Gracie that she wants to find the “truth” in her. But what is the truth when people are lying to themselves? Gracie, even 23 years later, sees nothing wrong with what she did to her now-husband when he was 13. In turns she talks about how they were in love and that Joe, even at his young age, was the seducer and “in control” of the situation. Gracie is a world champion denier who still manipulates Joe, counting the number of beers he’s had and chiding him for leaving his butterfly habitats in the living room. But Gracie also is fragile like a child. When anything drives her toward reality, including when a cake order is canceled, she breaks down in tears, and at these times Joe becomes father-like. Joe is secretly texting a female butterfly enthusiast and eventually agrees to meet up with Elizabeth without Gracie’s knowledge. That can’t be good. If Joe and Elizabeth are going to have a thing (even a comically brief thing), is it because she likes him? Or because she is slipping into character? Haynes and Burch masterfully blur the line between what is real and an act, not only in Elizabeth’s preparation but in Joe’s and Gracie’s lives. The lines between what is and isn’t moral also are intentionally muddled. Elizabeth’s transformation into a version of Gracie is remarkable in Portman’s hands, having fully bloomed in a mesmerizing late scene in which Portman looks into the camera and recites a letter that Gracie had written Joe while she was in prison. Portman (or Elizabeth; it’s hard to say) nails the part, right down to Gracie’s subtle lisp. Portman and Moore are brilliant, especially when they are together, as their every word has meaning while they participate in subtle mental jousting. Melton is every bit their equal as Joe, who only now, because of Elizabeth’s presence, is questioning how he has spent the past 23 years. The standout among the supporting cast is Cory Michael Smith as Georgie Atherton, Gracie’s son (and Joe’s former schoolmate), a sensitive and unstable man who obviously has been affected more than anyone by what his mother did. Smith delivers a can’t-look-away performance in his scenes; his Georgie is a human ticking time bomb.
Marcelo Zarvos’ piano-and-strings score sounds old school because it is; it’s an adaptation and re-orchestration of Michel Legrand’s score for the 1971 British film “The Go-Between.” The music sounds ominous even when it’s played for laughs, like when Gracie, preparing for a cookout upon Elizabeth’s arrival, stares into her refrigerator as the camera crawls toward her and utters in all seriousness, “We don’t have enough hot dogs.” Even the film’s slimiest moments can be laughed at, like when Elizabeth visits a drama class at the local high school and gives an age-inappropriate talk on filming sex scenes and uses a breathy voice when addressing a teenage boy. Or when she visits the scene of the crime, the stock room at the pet store, and, um, puts herself in Gracie’s position (up against a wall in front of the back door) and, um, imagines what it must have been like before cracking a mischievous smile. Or in the movie-making within a movie final scene in which Elizabeth, now playing Gracie, seductively (and ominously) tells her young fellow actor (as Joe) that a snake she is holding won’t bite him because “she’s not that kind of snake.” Yep. Almost every scene ends with an awkward moment, or a seemingly thrown-away line that has real bite, or a guilty giggle. Or all three simultaneously. You might not know which. But you’re gonna think about it.
My score: 95 out of 100.
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