Neither the fact that a film is set amidst the foreign (to most of us) otherworld of the privileged set nor the fact that it is populated largely by supercilious malcontents makes it a rehash of "The Royal Tenebaums," "The Great Gatsby," or any other film. It is a setting, a vehicle. There is nothing wrong with exploring it in multiple works -- particularly when each film employs this setting for its own, wholly unique purposes. "Igby" is no exception.
A rich tapestry of emotions and relationships (hued distinctly in angst and dysfunction), "Igby" provides us with a protaganist who instantly inspires thoughts of Holden Caulfield, but whose reasons for shirking the yoke of conformity (or employment or adulthood or whatever you think "it" is) are much, much different. And so are the problems he faces, which (he fears) threaten to pile upon him until he collapses under their weight -- just as he watched his father collapse, which we learn during a post-coital flashback that provides us with a belated clue as to why Igby carries such palpable fears about being steered into a "9 to 5" life.
If you boil this film for awhile, you'll find that it simmers down Igby's relationship with his father, Jason Sr. (Igby's real name is "Jason Jr.," a fact that we learn to be a rather cruel irony near the end of the film). It is the only real relationship Igby has: It is plain to all that the two love one another very much. From the good-natured way his father pronouces his affectionate nickname for Igby ("Old Man") to the subtle, understanding looks the two share from time to time (usually during one of Mimi's self-indulgent rants), we can see that Jason Sr. is the only person in the world whom Igby trusts and whom he does not suspect of hypocrisy, duplicity, or narcicism. What happens to their relationship is what makes Igby who he is at age 17.
Igby's father is mentally ill. He deteriorates slowly into depression at first, lamenting that he's "just no good on winter days" (a young Igby asks the prescient question: "What will happen next winter?"). Ultimately, his grip slackens, and he becomes erratic at best and -- at worst -- a danger to himself.
But Jason Sr. doesn't end up in a Maryland sanitarium without more than a bit of help from his shrewish wife, Mimi. When we juxapose the emotive, broken shell that Bill Pullman (playing Jason) presents against the cold, abusive harpie (Susan Sarandon) he married, we cannot help but suspect that the latter contributed heartily to the "pressures" that crushed the former. What's more important is that Igby suspects it too.
Igby's mother is his chief tormentor. She has been so his entire life. But their relationship not that simple. She's also, perhaps, his greatest disappointment. Had she been other than she was, life might have turned out very differently for Igby. We see that Igby's feelings about his mother run much deeper than the icy contempt he usually displays, when he confronts her belatedly at the end of the film. His frustration is not rooted entirely in anger. There's sadness, too, and also love. An unrequited love that Igby had long since buried.
The rest of the film springs from the well of Igby's terror that he will suffer his father's fate and his defiance of Mimi, who Igby is convinced wants only to hasten that eventuality. We meet Igby's older brother Oliver, the conservative, straight-A prototype his mother meticulously created. Oliver displays an intermittent filial dutifulness toward Igby, but willfully inflicts pain on his younger brother when met with the opportunity. There is, as Oliver observes in a closing scene, really nothing between them. We are not surprised that their ultimate parting is as dispassionate as it is.
Of course, Igby's interactions are not confined to his immediate family. Jeff Golblum plays a prominent role as D.H. Banes, Igby's supercapitalist "godfather" and benefactor. We know that Banes has made something of a "project" of Igby (as Mimi puts it). We don't know exactly why, though we may suspect it. Indeed, Mimi's deathbed statement on the matter offers a critical closing turn for the film (but more on that in a moment). Through Banes, Igby meets an artist named Rachel (Banes' mistress, of sorts, whom he parades in front of his wife and party guests at his Hamptons getaway) and, indirectly, Sookie Sapperstein, the daughter of a Jewish theologian and a "poetess," who shares Igby's ironic take on the world and who seems the closest thing Igby has to a friend throughout the film.
Igby's relationships with Rachel and Sookie are tenuous, but they are also complicated. They are complicated partly because they are sexual, but chiefly because of the smug duplicity of Banes and the casual treachery of Oliver, respectively. Igby's suspicions that people are generally dishonest and dishonorable are ratified repeatedly by those around him.
As Igby's despair heightens -- fueled by the inconstancy of his family and supposed friends -- he faces a defining moment. An unexpected request by his mother leads to a maccabre opportunity for Igby to attain that which he craves: the freedom to approach the world on his own terms. We are reminded, though, that this is nothing more than a consolation prize. Igby's final visit to his father drives home the magnitude of what Igby has lost, and it cautions us that Igby is not merely a malcontent but an emotionally damaged human being who is both capable and wanting of love. It is a profoundly sad moment. Jason Sr. is completely imprisoned within himself, incapable any more of being the man who had once earned Igby's devotion. The sheer tragedy of this truth is overwhelming.
But this is also a turning point for Igby. He has just learned that Jason Sr. is not actually his biological father. Thus, when Igby looks at Jason he still sees the tattered pieces of the man he loves, but he no longer sees what he has long thought to be his genetically preordained fate. Liberated from his mother and dispossessed of the lynchpin of his fatalism, Igby assumes control of his own destiny.
We hope Igby will use his freedom to seek out others like his father who will bring out the best in him and help him to be happy. There is little hope of enlightenment for the films' other characters. It is by no means an upbeat conclusion, but this is not a film about flawed characters improving themselves. It is a film about a very lonely young man who struggles to stave off a cruel fate he honestly believes awaits him, but who, despite his efforts, cannot find a foothold of trust or sincerity. It is a rich film, superbly acted and beautifully shot. Much like Darren Aronofsky's "Requiem for a Dream" (though not nearly so morbid), it the the sort of film that haunts you long after the credits have closed . . . until you succomb and watch it again.
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