A Minor Creative Betrayal Leads to Warm, Obvious Relationship Comedy in You Hurt My Feelings

Nicole Holofcener’s abilities are such that, even when her movies bleed past the edges of reality and into zany sitcom conversations—where people explain, in grandiose speeches, exactly what they’re feeling and how it’s thematically related to everything else going on—there’s still something human inside it all. Even when jokes don’t land, their formation feels organic to the situation and characters. It might not make her latest film a particularly strong entry into her body of work, but always reminds you of her talent. You Hurt My Feelings, which confronts middle-aged neuroses and creative anxieties with all the subtlety of a bestselling author with a new Twitter account, still finds warmth amid its middling dramedy.
Leads Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Tobias Menzies, playing lived-in, loving couple Beth and Don, are both the unfortunate mouthpieces for much of this over-precise musing and the keen presences making it all the more tolerable. They, and everyone around them, are devastatingly defined as New Yorkers. Beth is a washed-up memoirist half-heartedly teaching at The New School. Don is an increasingly distracted therapist. Their son (Owen Teague) is an aspiring playwright who works at a weed dispensary, while Beth’s interior designer sister (Michaela Watkins) and actor brother-in-law (Arian Moayed) are facing career crises of their own. Everyone’s brimming with self-doubt and doesn’t have much going on besides their jobs.
Naturally, the thing to do is turn the self-esteem screws on this professionally obsessed enclave: Through a silly piece of contrived eavesdropping, Beth learns that otherwise supportive Don doesn’t like her new novel. In fact, he hates it. Truly, what could be more devastating?
It’s a problem of Seinfeldian proportions. The post-dumping diner conversation writes itself. But while it mines that obvious vein for a bit, You Hurt My Feelings also finds harmless, soft charm in the excessive reactions that unfurl from all the characters, ones not connected necessarily by a sharply designed plot or from the instigating event operating as an emotional catalyst, but connected by mere inevitability. These ego blows are less dominos falling in a line and more bumper cars colliding in an arena designed for disappointment. If you live your life like this, Holofcener argues, you’re asking for it.