‘The Meyerowitz Stories’ Shines An Unexpected, Meaningful Light On The Complexity Of Sexual Abuse

The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected) is a very, very good movie. Written and directed by Noah Baumbach, the family dramedy follows the three adult children (Adam Sandler, Ben Stiller, and Elizabeth Marvel) of grumpy, judgmental artist Harold Meyerowitz (Dustin Hoffman) as they come together to celebrate his career retrospective. While the film largely focuses on its central men (and Sandler is nothing short of a revelation as Harold’s oldest son), there is one moment in particular in the film that unexpectedly captures a little-discussed aspect of sexual abuse.

Jean Meyerowitz, played brilliantly by Marvel, spends most of her time on screen mild-mannered, meek, and unassuming. The only daughter of Harold, she quietly supports her family and shows up when asked to and never asks for much – but when an old friend of her father shows up at the hospital to support him after he slips into a coma, Jean is completely caught off guard and runs from her brothers into the woods.

(Jean’s Story), a title card tells us. And boy, is it.

In a single take, Marvel delivers a monologue in such a manner that it takes your breath away – but it’s not a show-stopping melodrama. It’s raw, real, and uncomfortable, almost nonchalant. Once met by her brothers in the woods, Jean explains that their father’s friend, Paul, exposed himself and masturbated to her in her swimsuit when she was a young teenager:

“Later, I showered in the outdoor shower with my suit on, and I realized someone was watching me. It was… Paul. He smiled at me, almost politely, and then he lowered his tight bathing suit, took out his penis, and started stroking it… I watched him until he finished, and then he walked away.”

When asked by her horrified brothers if she told anyone, she simply says that she told their father, but when he learned that Paul hadn’t touched her, he suggested they just leave it alone. She then explains that she couldn’t even find her dad to say goodbye the next day because he was playing tennis, and she was too afraid of telling Matthew’s mom for fear that she’d get angry with her. “I remember crying on my way to the ferry,” she says.

Jean maintains that she’s continued to show up for their father all these years because she’s a “decent person” and she likes spending time with her brothers, which prompts them to reach for a hug. She recoils, declaring she’s going for a smoke, and Matthew and Danny proceed to deliberate about what should be done to Paul. They smash his car up in an act of revenge, and happily report back to Jean, expecting some kind of gratitude or satisfaction. Instead, she’s appalled that they damaged the car of an 80-year-old man with dementia.

“Why would I be happy about this? You smashed a sick old man’s car… I’m glad you guys feel better. Unfortunately, I’m still fucked up… I could smash every car in this parking lot and burn the hospital down and it wouldn’t un-fuck me up. You guys will never understand what it’s like to be me in this family.”

There’s a lot to unpack in Jean’s Story. It’s masterfully done, from Marvel’s performance to the matter-of-fact tone in the writing of her story. It’s not often that sexual abuse survivors are given a realistic portrayal on screen; we’re more likely to see a woman get weepy or withdrawn or some kind of soapy declaration of what’s gone on. Instead, there’s a sincerity, an honesty to the way Jean explains what happens to her. We get the impression that she’s told herself this story a hundred times – this just happens to be the first time Danny and Matthew are hearing it. She averts eye contact but her voice remains steady, and her voice is coated ever-so-slightly in a pain she’s become accustomed to. It’s a stunning scene, one that makes it hard to believe it was written by a man because it depicts her state so well. The men’s response to it is even more telling, and perfectly showcases another little-discussed aspect of sexual abuse.

When a survivor tells their story, there’s often a response that sees others want to seek justice by whatever means they can. Danny and Matthew’s smashing of Paul’s car is their attempt to avenge their sister, their attempt to give her closure and help her move on. As we know, though, life doesn’t work that way – and it’s fascinating to watch these reactions play out because they are so distinctly gendered, and she calls them out on it. They didn’t do this for her – they did it to make themselves feel better about a terrible thing that had been done to her. Danny might try tell her not to minimize her experience just because she wasn’t molested, that the same creep who abused her is still there beneath the dementia-ridden man, but Jean doesn’t care about any of this. That kind of experience is not the kind of thing that’s smashed away with rocks and canes and curse words. It’s with you forever. You just learn to live with it.

Seeing this aspect of sexual abuse depicted on screen – the aftermath, even some twenty years later – is a pleasant surprise, one that’s both moving and meaningful. There aren’t any dramatic fireworks or bells and whistles here because Baumbach seems to understand that the power of these kinds of stories lies in their humanity. He treats this complex, one-of-a-kind (yet universal) experience with the sensitivity and nuance it deserves – and The Meyerowitz Stories (and the rest of us) are better for it.