Meg and Nick (Lindsay Duncan and Jim Broadbent), a sixtyish British married couple, have gone to Paris to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Upon arriving at the Montmarte hotel they recalled from a previous visit, Meg dubs it entirely unsuitable; "It's . . . beige," she spits, and Nick, not horrified at all but wanting to oblige his wife, muses that "there's a certain light-brown-ness about it." One expensive cab ride later, they're at a far more expensive, and expansive, hotel, in the fanciest suite, with the Eiffel Tower right out the window.
In Le Week-End, director Roger Michell (Notting Hill) and writer Hanif Kureishi (who teamed up with Michell for the 2006 Peter O'Toole vehicle Venus) explore what happens when you arrive at the inflection point between two phases of life, and aren't sure you're in the right place. Or that you've arrived there with the right person. What do you do, in other words, if you get to where you were going, and realize there's a "certain light-brown-ness" about it?
I've read a lot of articles about how we millennials are discovering, as we reach young adulthood, that we're not as special as our parents and teachers have always told us. Most of us, it turns out, are just profoundly ordinary people. We'll marry other ordinary people, live in ordinary house, have ordinary jobs and ordinary children and conventional white picket fences. (The resulting quarterlife crisis is well chronicled in the HBO show Girls.)
And yet still we crave newness and hate the idea of commitment, so we drift around carelessly from job to job, partner to partner, city to city, church to church. We're unmoored, ...1