Like it or not, we’re officially in the holiday season. For a sizable chunk of the population, that means having to start weeks of emotional and mental preparation just to deal with extended family. I myself do not have a difficult family. I’ve been told it’s a gift: While others plan an exit strategy before the pie is served, I’m nose-deep in the blueprints of where to hide the Christmas presents I bought a month early so they won’t be found and ruin the surprise.
My lack of detestable aunts and weird uncles is a godsend, yes, but it makes me that much more predisposed to seeking out stories about families fighting to the death over the dinner table. That’s part of what makes writer/director Dean Craig’s new feature, The Estate, so alluring: It’s a deliciously immoral story of warring, ne’er-do-well cousins, all battling over their rich aunt’s estate after she’s diagnosed with terminal cancer. What better way to forget your own familial woes? And though the film ratchets its hereditary havoc up to impossible heights, The Estate proves itself a delightfully foul-mouthed family comedy that’s tonally frenetic, but ultimately amusing.
Macey (Toni Collette) and Savanna (Anna Faris) are two sisters already knee-deep in business debt when they hear about their aunt Hilda’s (Kathleen Turner) cancer diagnosis. They run a small New Orleans café that has been losing business since their father died. Without another loan from their bank, they face having to close down the one thing that’s honoring his memory. Macey, more reluctant and rational than her impulsive sister, is hesitant when Savanna suggests they visit Hilda and try to worm their way into her will. But when Macey’s boyfriend has to move or risk losing his job, she’s on board. Why not try to bankroll a few extra millions to keep both the family business and her personal life from sinking?
But when they arrive at Aunt Hilda’s massive mansion in their beat-up jalopy, they’re greeted by company. Their cousin Beatrice (Rosemarie Dewitt) and her husband James (Ron Livingston) have already arrived from New York, ladle-deep in a pot of soup and throwing scones into the oven at warp speed to care for poor, sick, impossible Hilda. And their other cousin, Richard (David Duchovny) isn’t far behind. No one has shown up on Hilda’s porch with good intentions, and no one is leaving until the old lady croaks.
What ensues is a madcap power grab for a spot in Aunt Hilda’s will, at which Macey and Savanna are already at a disadvantage. Though they’ve remained in close proximity to Hilda their whole lives, their status as Hilda’s least favorite sister’s kids is working against them. “Aunt Hilda thinks that the sun shines out of my ass,” Beatrice tells the sisters, “and she thinks that the two of you are a couple of dipshits.” That means that, while Beatrice and her husband remain on soup and scone duty, Macey and Savanna resort to draining Hilda’s colostomy bag in order to score some extra points.
If this sounds like it could easily devolve into tasteless gross-out humor, you’d be correct. But thankfully—and maybe to some viewers’ disgust—The Estate never quite stretches its jokes to the farthest reaches of their odious potential. For the scatological bedpan humor, that’s a welcome relief; one colostomy bag joke is all a comedy really needs! But other times, like when Savanna and Macey kidnap Hilda to force a reconciliation between their mother and their aunt, the explosive reunion should be even bigger and more expletive-filled than it already is. Imagine that argument waged with Kathleen Turner’s iconic vocal rasp!
There’s a great joke that carries the rest of the film…that happens halfway through the runtime. Given that, it would be easy for The Estate to lose steam fast. And it probably would, were it not for its roster of dedicated players. Faris and Collette spar just like real sisters; their rapport never feels false, even as the slapstick elements of the film escalate to bewildering levels. And as supporting players, Duchovny, Dewitt, and Turner all hold their own, spewing wicked vulgarities while ratcheting the obscenity higher and higher. It’s so much fun to watch this group fight—and to see Rosemarie Dewitt and Toni Collette reunite for their third project playing relatives (and second this year!)—that The Estate’s farcical low points are almost forgettable.
As Richard (who now prefers to be called “Dick,” which gets a slightly off-color but still chuckle-worthy gay joke), Duchovny combines his natural charm with a revolting smarm, continuously hitting on Macey, who is fresh off her second divorce. Their status as cousins is no issue, he assures her. But if she does decide to take him up on the offer, he says they should probably adopt “in case they come out lookin’ a little weird.” It’s a funny enough joke the first time, but by the tenth, it feels older than Aunt Hilda. We get it, the guy’s a freak! Must there be a reminder of it every time he’s on-screen? Can’t we have any time to enjoy Duchovny’s mustached good looks separate from his character’s repulsiveness?
The film’s wannabe edginess often feels false, which is strange to say about a movie with a recurring incest joke, but it’s true. It’s lewd for lewdness' sake at one minute and then bounces back to a smarter punchline the next, as if Craig was too afraid to punch up his own screenplay and risk losing the stoner demographic. Those who are looking for a feature-length episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia have come to the right place. But, like that show, The Estate feels smarter than lesser creations of the same ilk. The punchlines might feel safe, but one gets the feeling that, if The Estate’s crudeness were to cross the line into offensiveness, it would be a much less enjoyable 90 minutes.
Some might arrive at this New Orleans mansion looking for a comedy rich with gross-out laughs and filthy digs, but like the gaggle of cousins who show up to vie for Hilda’s estate, it won’t be quite what they expect. But there’s enough unexpected raunch and hilarious impropriety in The Estate to entertain a family for a Thursday night on the couch—preferably the fourth one in November, after plenty of turkey, pie, and family fighting of your own.
