Even though it ends with a saccharine, fortuitous, foreseeable ending, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is an endearing and frightening journey for our cast of British retirees. The cash is accomplished and equates to a super group of out-of-retirement seventies rockers. (Think Mick Jagger, Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, and Robert Page on stage together.) Unfortunately, the allure of the cast, (much like the allure of those musicians on stage) is based more on hype than product.
It’s difficult to detract from any performance that comes from Judi Dench, Tom Wilkerson, Bill Nighy, or Maggie Smith, but the improbably coincidences that initially tie them together and then keep them interconnected in a country of 1.2 billion people stretch the audience’s ability to suspend their disbelief. While there is a cuteness involved in the kismet, there’s also an inevitable conclusion that rears its head about twenty five minutes into the movie. We know what’s coming, but we hope that the story and its brief, comedic moments can carry us through. In part, it works.
At the same time, there is a disturbing undercurrent throughout the film’s narrative, beginning with out senior citizens being condescended to with the convenience of handrails around the perimeter of a new apartment, or the panic button that resides on one wall – so long as they fall in that particular corner. Here, the real estate agent focuses only on the couple’s age, euphemistically eliding age discrimination. The same condescension is seen when Evelyn Greenslade (Dench) attempts to access her dead husband’s account in order to close it. The detached, outsourced (clearly a setup for a character to be serendipitously introduced later on), script-reading voice on the other end proceeds coldly, only to leave Greenslade a confused outlier of modern technology.
These moments are simultaneously endearing and creepy. Endearing in the sense that they conjure moments without our grandparents and the ways in which we discuss contemporary trends with aloofness and, perhaps, treat their inquiries with the handling of a parent dismissing a child’s perpetual “why?”s. Perhaps there’s also some shame in our recognition that we veer toward these personas when we need to get something done and those in our way are merely impediments – or customers.
Here, I am reminded of the final, jarring moment in David Mamet’s Glengarry Glenross, wherein “The Machine” Levine is left as lonely as his potential clients, who “just like talking to salespeople.” Often, the gravity of this line is overlooked as the thief of the leads (Levine) has been exposed, but what is most profound is how Levine is seen as just as irrelevant as his potential clients. Both are placed in the same category of uselessness, and his younger mid-level manager (Kevin Spacey) knows it. They are fated not to buy, and Levine is fated to fail.
This sadistic indifference to the elderly – or even those who are outside of our selves – is disturbing and obvious, but often practiced. And, this is where The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel might have been poignant. While disturbing, the effectual outsourcing of empathy and duty to another country is real. For in depth references to this phenomenon, you can look at Sherry Turkle’s Alone Together, in which she spends a handful of chapters explaining her studies of the elderly interacting with Paro-like animals. Paro, the seal-like, plush-coated robot offers a sense of camaraderie and companionship, but without the responsibility of feedings.
The innovative progressions made in the field of robotics is impressive, but the purpose is disturbing: outsourcing one’s emotional connectivity to an inanimate object, assuming that it offers the same comfort that a human touch can.
And, perhaps it does, but this becomes doubly disturbing: have we become so disconnected from each other than we value our ability to connect below that of a programmable toy?
This dire look at humanity is also referenced in Marigold when the chattel of operators are schooled (by Dench) how to interact with the elderly. The attempt here is valiant and enlightening, but the purpose is misguided in that Greenslade’s goal is to get the operators to understand that their customers are human, but the manager’s purpose is to get the sales people to connect quickly, thus increasing sales, thus increasing revenue.
Of course, the film can’t expose such cynicism – or, at least, it can’t follow through with it. Instead, it must wrap itself up quickly and nicely, with a bit of diplomacy.
And, I’m left to wonder whether this is the studio’s way of condescending to us.
