Magic Hour Review: Katie Aselton and Daveed Diggs Work Through Complex Emotions

Is it still a twist if the script tells you what’s happening around the 15-minute mark? The marketing that surrounds Katie Aselton’s Magic Hour seems to believe so. I’d argue the film itself does not, though, because it needs us to know what happened in order to understand what’s happening now. The struggle between Erin (Aselton) and Charlie (Daveed Diggs) to stay together isn’t about betrayal—it’s about grief and, ultimately, acceptance.

Co-written by Aselton and husband Mark Duplass (there are definite shades of the latter’s Blue Jay as directed by Alex Lehmann), the movie starts with a video recording of Erin and Charlie at an amusement park as she tries helping him conquer his fear of heights via the Ferris wheel. The image fills the entire screen as they goof around and prove just how strong their love is before things shift to the letterbox framing of Joshua Tree.

The couple has arrived at their friend Marshall’s (Brad Garrett) desert retreat to work through an unknown issue that’s threatened to tear that love apart. It’s easy to assume the drama stems from an affair on Charlie’s part: he’s much more prone to lighten the mood while she’s quick to justifiably demand to know why the heavy lifting appears to be hers to carry alone. “She didn’t want this.” “They agreed to work through it.”

Without yet knowing what we don’t yet know, the tone of this argument can become a bit confusing—Erin is just as likely to show frustration towards Charlie as she is a smile. He has a knack for going too far with a good thing to sour the mood and a gift for knowing how to drag things back with a well-timed dose of silliness. And this is why Magic Hour needs to reveal its truth so early: it doesn’t work unless Erin is allowed to just scream.

I’ll play the game, though. I won’t “give it away” despite it being both obvious at a quick glance and not something the film’s text is trying to hide. I’ll simply state that what follows focuses on Erin’s desperation to hold on too tightly when she knows deep down that her only path forward is to let go. Her friends (led by Marshall, D.J. “Shangela” Pierce’s Ricky, and the rest of the latter’s drag Destiny’s Child quartet) help while her mother (Susan Sullivan) tries.

It’s inevitably up to Erin alone. To shed the co-dependent nature of her marriage (humorously articulated by Charlie via another video on one of their phones). To allow herself to get excited about the future, even if doing so guarantees she’s more depressed about her present. To express her anger towards Charlie regardless of his inability to alter this new reality they must both confront. It’s truly all in her control.

The result is a wonderful showcase for Aselton. She has written an emotionally complex role that’s built to provide her a stage with which to let loose, to feel the roller coaster that is life beside another human while enduring fate’s cruel hand. Her Erin is shown coaxing Charlie out of his comfort zone, overcoming devastating news together with the optimism of knowing they still have each other, and learning to deal with the potential of starting over.

It’s also a nice showcase as a director, considering the moving parts inherent to a narrative that’s hiding truths from its characters (even if it’s not hiding them from us). She and cinematographer Sarah Whelden do well wielding reflections to keep everyone in frame, even if Erin and the audience are the only ones who know they’re all there. The technique is as much about the drama of that presence as the comedy upon them hearing what’s not meant to be heard.

Diggs is great, too, in a mostly supporting role that gives Aselton a figure to act out her tumult against both when he’s onscreen and when he’s not. He’s there to push her to the edge of comfort as far as seeing the reality of her situation and to pull her back when it’s obvious the moment isn’t quite right. That Charlie also gets a few moments to air his own frustrations—this isn’t what he wanted either—is a bonus; their mutual love never wavers.

That’s the main reason Magic Hour works so well: it’s an indie two-hander that deals with themes we’ve seen many times before, but never pretends it needs more explosive drama than its conceit possesses. This isn’t a couple accepting each other’s failings to move on; it’s a couple coming to grips with the fact that they must do it despite having none.

It’s a much more difficult situation to endure, knowing your love could have sustained you for eternity if only you were given an eternity to prove it. Erin wishes to manifest it anyway, despite knowing that doing so would be crazy—it’s easier to lose yourself in the impossible than to live in the pain of what is. And it’s through the tough love of her friends and the misjudgment of her mother that she finds her way to the threshold to at least try.

Magic Hour opens in theaters on Friday, May 15.