‘A REAL PAIN’: Kieran Culkin Navigates Grief and Gags With Finesse
Jesse Eisenberg’s second directorial effort is a darkly funny, deeply personal comedy drama that explores grief, family bonds, and cultural identity. Starring Eisenberg alongside Kieran Culkin, the film follows two estranged cousins, David and Benji, as they travel to Poland after their grandmother’s passing.
Their trip, initially meant as a heritage tour, soon becomes an emotional reckoning as they confront personal and generational trauma while visiting Holocaust memorials and sites connected to their family history.
From its opening scene, ‘A Real Pain’ establishes a lingering sadness beneath its witty dialogue and seemingly casual interactions. Culkin, fresh off his Emmy-winning turn in ‘Succession’, steals the show as Benji with a performance that blends biting humour with raw vulnerability. Benji appears unhinged and resentful, carrying a grudge that is never explicitly stated but deeply felt.
This underlying tension is magnified in contrast to David, portrayed by Eisenberg with his trademark neurotic energy. A cautious and responsible man, David finds himself constantly frustrated by Benji’s reckless, abrasive nature. When a fellow traveler on their tour asks, “Has he always been like this?” David responds with a weary “He’s up and down all the time.” But David, too, is not doing well. He just hides it better. Unlike Benji, who wears his pain openly, David suppresses his emotions, insisting, “I don’t burden everybody with it,” even as he grapples with his own internal struggles with anxiety and OCD.
As the journey unfolds, from train rides to group dinners, always punctuated by Benji’s regular jokes, we learn that Benji attempted suicide six months prior and now lives in his mother’s basement, lost and directionless. We also discover that his bond with his late grandmother was particularly strong, making the trip all the more emotionally charged.
These revelations make the film’s nuanced approach to grief all the more compelling. The direction and performances navigate these emotions with precision, striking a delicate balance between humour and melancholy without ever slipping into sentimentality. Eisenberg resists the temptation to overplay the inherent sorrow in the story, particularly during a harrowing yet restrained sequence set in a concentration camp. It would have been easy to veer into heavy-handed miserabilism, but the film avoids this pitfall, instead presenting its difficult themes with a subtle, human touch. This feels authentic and affecting without being manipulative.
Similarly, despite their constant irritation with each other, Benji and David’s relationship is ultimately rooted in love and mutual respect. Their dynamic avoids the predictable, explosive confrontations often found in road trip or family dramas. There are no dramatic shouting matches or tearful reconciliations. Instead, their most revealing exchange happens while they are a bit stoned on a rooftop, a moment that sidesteps cliché by avoiding grand emotional confessions.
This careful balance between humour, emotion, and character dynamics is also supported by the film's distinctive sound design. The Chopin-heavy soundtrack initially feels overpowering but soon proves essential to the film’s rhythm. It helps maintain a light, almost whimsical tone, preventing the story from being weighed down by its heavy subject matter while also adding depth to the moments of silence when the music stops.
In those quiet moments, the film becomes almost unbearably intimate: the wood creaks, the wind blows, and Benji’s pain feels almost audible. It is in these silences that both we and David most acutely sense the depths of Benji’s suffering. His vacant stares, which bookend the film, embody the title A Real Pain, making his inner turmoil the plot’s silent yet undeniable force.
AFTERTASTE
4.5