Movie Review – Terms of Endearment

Terms of Endearment (1983)
Written & Directed by James L. Brooks

Television was where creator James L. Brooks started, and that influence can be seen in his second feature film, Terms of Endearment. The production looks like a movie, but the plot points and character types feel similar to characters that would populate one of his many sitcoms. The difference is that Brooks was able to touch on the subject matter no network censor would have allowed on the air. Terms of Endearment is pretty frank about female sexuality (heteronormative, of course), and we even have a central character die of cancer. It is rare to have a beloved character pass away on a sitcom, but in the world of movies, it is easier to get away with those things. In this way, Terms feels like Brooks is translating the story structures and character beats he knows into a new format.

Aurora Greenway (Shirley MacLaine) is a widow living in Houston with her precocious daughter Emma (Debra Winger). Their relationship is incredibly close, and Aurora is often far too controlling as a parent. Emma wants to start a life outside her mother’s shadow, leading her to a quickie marriage with Flap Horton (Jeff Bridges), an English professor who is about as immature and inexperienced as her. As Emma and Flap’s family grows, they move to Iowa, where he can have a more lucrative job. In Houston, Aurora is caught up in an unexpected whirlwind romance with her neighbor and ex-astronaut Garrett Breedlove (Jack Nicholson). Mother and daughter keep each other in the loop about their lives; as babies are born, infidelity occurs, and life’s unexpected circumstances make things always unpredictable. Emma realizes she’s never trusted anyone more than Aurora and makes a crucial decision that showcases the depth of that.

I won’t say that I loved Terms of Endearment, but I also didn’t see it as some valueless schmaltz, as I’ve seen some people state over the years. I get what Brooks was doing, writing his characters using his sitcom sensibilities. That made for an interesting juxtaposition with the subject matter because you didn’t see these things addressed on television then. I could easily see this being a modern-day dramedy on Showtime or something similar. In many ways, the film is also part of a subgenre of pictures that saw some popularity in American cinemas at the time. It’s comparable to The World According to Garp, an adaptation of a melodramatic novel with some quirkier elements. It’s not gut-bustlingly hilarious but features genuine moments of pathos from which the humor is found. 

The biggest strength of the film is the two lead performances. Shirley MacLaine being great is no surprise to anyone familiar with her work. She felt like an extremely modern actress when she started making waves in the 1960s. Her performance in Billy Wilder’s The Apartment is so layered and nuanced compared to many of the broader acting at the time. She’s always felt like more than just the stereotypical image of women in American cinema, a complex human being experiencing profound emotions. The style of acting MacLaine was using is something that the rest of the world has caught up with, but she has been doing it for decades. It doesn’t surprise me that she had an extensive Broadway career; her acting style feels authentic in the way excellent stage acting often does.

Keeping pace with MacLaine is Debra Winger, who is so endearing in the role of Emma. She’d previously starred in Urban Cowboy and An Officer and a Gentleman, so the actress wasn’t an unknown quantity. Acclaim had been heaped on her for her performances in those previous films. I could immediately see the appeal of Winger in this role; she feels so effortless & honest. The audience is immediately invested in Emma, who is a delight to see on screen. Winger’s behind-the-scenes penchant for being very opinionated about the films she worked on and her desire to raise the bar of quality can be seen in her performances. She’s never phoning it in and works to make every scene feel genuine, or at least the emotions in the scene to feel as accurate as possible. 

The underlying structure and plot of Terms of Endearment owe a lot to the films of Douglas Sirk. Sirk, the director of the 1950s melodramas All That Heaven Allows and Imitation of Life, carved out a niche in American cinema of serious “women’s” films. These were movies focused primarily on the lives of middle-class white women and provided an avenue for the German immigrant to explore themes surrounding how women were often marginalized even when they ascended through the class system. While I don’t think Terms goes that deep, it is undoubtedly taking its role as a “women’s film” more seriously than the culture would give it credit. 

Terms isn’t a masterpiece, though. Because Brooks leans so heavily into the tropes and structures of sitcoms, you never feel an authentic emotional weight. I dislike the cancer subplot, which pops up at a very convenient time in the film. The emotions associated with that storyline never came across as anything but emotionally manipulative. It provides a way to sanctify Emma that elevates her above reproach. That’s far less interesting than letting her character live on and do things we might disagree with. The biggest problem with importing television writing styles into cinema is that those styles are centered around characters who must go on existing and be appealing to the audience week after week. 

What I appreciate most about cinema is that a morally complicated character can be spotlighted and explored. For me, Aurora was most interesting when she was in conflict with Emma, and many of those moments don’t make Aurora seem very nice. Emma was most interesting when she was having an affair behind Flap’s back. It gave her a complexity you don’t get in sitcoms; it would have been easy for the audience to dislike her. Walking that edge with your characters is something hard to pull off, and while I appreciate Brooks’ efforts, he missed some fantastic opportunities in Terms of telling a more challenging story.