Happiness (Todd Solondz, 1998) Review

"We all thought you were doomed to fail."

Warning

Spoilers ahead.

There are many ways to be controversial. In the world of cinema, directors such as Gaspar Noé, Lars von Trier, and Michael Haneke share a common denominator: exploring the most twisted and hidden corners of the human psyche. Their work often provokes rejection and repulsion in general audiences, though not to the same extent as the films of Srđan Spasojević, known for A Serbian Film (2010), and Tom Six, the creator of The Human Centipede trilogy, which focus on explicit and physical imagery to unnerve viewers. Even though this is the first Solondz film I’ve watched, it’s difficult not to include him in the first group mentioned.

Happiness revolves around three sisters from the Jordan family: Joy (Jane Adams), Helen (Lara Flynn Boyle), and Trish (Cynthia Stevenson). Despite being a sweetheart and facing life with a positive attitude, Joy is the antithesis of her name, as she is caught in a spiral of negativity that constantly drags her toward sadness and emptiness. This becomes evident during a conversation with her sister Trish, who, behind a mask of condescension, superiority, and passive-aggressiveness, reveals to Joy what the whole family really thinks of her.

You know, Joy, I've never told you this before, but now that we're older, and I feel so bonded to you, well… the truth is – oh, I know this sounds horrible, but I feel I have to be fully open with you, get beyond all the old barriers, sibling nonsense – well, the truth is I always thought you would never amount to much. That you'd end up alone, without a career or anything. Really, it's what we all thought. Mom, Dad, Helen… everyone… I'd always prayed we'd all be wrong, but you had always seemed to… doomed to failure. But now I see, it's not true. There is a glimmer of hope for you after all. Oh, I know I'm repeating myself, but, oh… I'm so happy for you…

— Trish

The clash between her dream of becoming an artist and the reality of having to work in a call center is another contrast that fuels the constant unrest she feels. Quitting that job to teach at an immigrant education center doesn’t help, either. She fails to connect with her students and finds little satisfaction in doing charitable work. This only reinforces her naiveté, kindness, and continuous yearning for personal fulfillment, as well as her difficulty finding a place where she feels valued—a widespread malaise in today’s society.

During her time as a teacher, she meets Vlad, a Russian immigrant with whom she has a fleeting and abusive relationship. In this narrative arc, her longing for true love surfaces—something she didn’t find in her previous relationship—, further deteriorating Joy’s mental state. Vlad offers a glimpse of hope but ultimately becomes a nightmare in which she is merely a spectator to her own abuse. This is the consequence of always trying to please others, reaching points where she’s degraded as if she were less than human.

On the other hand, Helen is Joy’s juxtaposition. She’s a successful author who is adored and envied by those who know her. However, beneath that glamorous life lies a profound emptiness, as she feels incapable of legitimizing herself and believes that all the recognition she receives is undeserved. Her intense imposter syndrome makes her wish she had suffered a traumatic experience (”If only I had been raped as a child! Then I would know authenticity!”), underscoring the insubstantiality of her own literary creations and the irony of seeking “authenticity” where no real pain exists.

Emotionally, Helen succumbs to promiscuity and loveless sex in an attempt to fill her existential void. This tendency intensifies with the anonymous phone calls she receives from her neighbor, Allen (Philip Seymour Hoffman), for whom she feels an attraction suffused with lust and mystery due to his elevated level of dirty talk. However, when they finally meet, Helen immediately rejects him, emphasizing the superficiality of her relationships. She is a clear example of someone who wants to be loved but never will be due to her emotional incompetence and dysfunctional affective development. Helen embodies the tension between professional success and emotional emptiness, demonstrating that public approval alone is insufficient for happiness without genuine connections with others.

Out of the three sisters, we learn the least about Helen, as her few onscreen moments seem to be more of an excuse to focus on Allen. His social ineptitude and mental disorder, reflected in his unkempt appearance and squalid living conditions, lead him to engage in sexual depravity, such as making obscene phone calls to Helen. In a world where everyone seeks love or validation, Allen illustrates the inability of some people to escape their own isolation. His loneliness and sexual repression cause him to embody the most degraded side of unrequited desire—the perversion arises not so much from evil, but from a lack of healthy ways to express the need for connection.

In an attempt to cope with Helen’s rejection, Allen turns to his neighbor, Kristina (Camryn Manheim), but he also fails to connect with her. Although Kristina is a minor character, she reinforces the depiction of people marked by loneliness and violence. He harasses people by phone, and she kills people when she feels threatened. Through these characters, Happiness highlights how trauma and isolation can warp the desire for connection and lead to monstrous behaviors in search of catharsis.

Rounding out the trio of sisters is Trish, a housewife and mother living a comfortable, upper-middle-class life. She is married to Bill (Dylan Baker), a rather peculiar psychiatrist, with whom she has three children. Their marriage is empty and insipid, subtly reflected in the scene where Bill talks to Trish while she listens and responds without taking her eyes off the TV. They don’t communicate or share activities, resulting in a monotonous, interest-based relationship. In short, they are the archetype of a dull “traditional” marriage.

Although their relationship is clearly based on habit rather than true love, the way she treats her children is consistent with her love life. An illustrative example occurs when Trish threatens to disown Billy if he ever tries drugs.

And Billy, I want you to know, if you ever even think of doing drugs, and end up dying in a hospital… I’d disown you. That’s how strongly I feel. Now I know, Bill, I may sound harsh, but we’re talking about our kids. Not to be too grandiose, but this is the future, the future of our country we’re talking about, after all.

— Trish to her son Billy

While this aspect isn’t explored in depth, it’s evident that her parenting style relies more on fear and authority than on explaining things to a child in a comprehensible and kind manner.

Beyond Trish’s questionable pedagogical methods and her plastic marriage, she genuinely believes she’s happy, despite being consumed by the envy of her sister Helen’s success. What she doesn’t know is that she lives with a husband who has a dual facade—behind his apparent friendliness lies a moral abyss in the form of pedophilia, with which Solondz makes us question how far evil can hide in the everyday. Inevitably, Hannah Arendt’s concept of “the banality of evil” came to mind, just as it did when I watched The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023).

Due to his deeply sick mind, Bill attracts all the attention—it’s somewhat ironic that the most degenerate character is a psychiatrist. Solondz skillfully explores Bill’s psyche without resorting to grossly explicit or morbid depictions of his abject actions, which reminds me of Michael Haneke’s techniques; despite dealing with violence, Haneke rarely shows them on screen. In addition to depicting Bill’s methods of committing crimes, the psychological aspect is revealed through his conversations with his son, Billy (Rufus Read). Their dynamic feels unnatural; at times, it seems as if Billy is taking on the role of his father. Furthermore, Billy is always the one to approach his father, underscoring Bill’s inadequate role as a parental figure.

Their conversations revolve around the sexual curiosity stirred by Billy’s schoolmates. Considering Bill’s background, these conversations become quite uncomfortable. Billy displays a degree of maturity and communication skills uncommon for a child his age. A prime example of this occurs in their final conversation, which takes place days before Bill is arrested for his crimes. In it, Bill assures Billy that he would not rape him, but he would masturbate, which reveals just how much his distorted view of desire has contaminated his family bonds.

Happiness also explores the relationship between Mona and Lenny, the parents of the Jordan’s family. After 40 years of marriage, they reach a total stalemate and decide to live separately in search of a breath of fresh air to rekindle their extinguished flame. In fact, they begin a separation process that never comes to fruition, leaving them trapped in a “half-finished” breakup—a symbol of the ambiguity and instability of the very concept of “happiness” in certain marriages, such as Trish and Bill’s. However, expecting to feel better apart only leaves them feeling emptier as they are unable to form emotional connections with people. Together, their story arc serves as a quieter, more everyday counterpoint to the dramatic extremes of their daughters’.

In his effort to explore the various ways society experiences emptiness, Solondz tries to cover too much ground in relation to the film’s runtime. Some narrative arcs feel superfluous and superficial, such as those of Mona and Lenny, while others are unduly truncated, such as Joy’s. Similarly, Trish seems to exist merely to introduce Bill, as we learn surprisingly little about her. The same applies to Helen, who feels like a vehicle to present Allen. For these reasons, I think the film should have been conceived as a series, which would allow more freedom to develop each storyline and avoid loose ends. Rob McElhenney evidently had a similar idea, as one can sense the influence of Happiness on his series It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (2005–present).

Still, Happiness manages to bring all the storylines together at a single point: “We are all homeless in one way or another”, as Joel Quartuccio would say. The film illustrates this idea by presenting the latent cynicism across different social strata and how, in our attempt to combat our existential void, we despairingly succumb to something that makes us feel. Happiness depicts that something as sex, since it is a primitive impulse inherent to our condition as living beings. However, it could have been represented by anything because, ultimately, each of us is the architect of a lie we use in order to justify our existence and achieve a state akin to happiness. As Viktor Frankl argued in Man’s Search for Meaning (1946), those who found a purpose, no matter how small, managed to endure the existential suffering. Much of this depends on our attitude toward life, and clearly, the characters in Happiness are completely dysfunctional in that regard.

Despite the noogenic neurosis and alienation of the cast, the film offers gusts of fresh air in the form of black humor, whose contrast with the twisted situations provokes uncomfortable laughter that makes us question our sanity. This juxtaposition is epitomized in the ending when Billy ejaculates and exclaims, ”I came!”, reaching the highest state of euphoria experienced by any character in the film. Unlike the adults, whose sense of fulfillment depends on external approval, success, or twisted sexual desire, Billy’s happiness is not contingent on meeting others’ expectations. He laughs and shares his achievement without questioning its morality or his right to that joy.

Happiness acts as an uncomfortable mirror that confronts us with the fine line between longing for fulfillment and drifting into emptiness. Solondz’s courage in revealing our darkest side makes this work a necessary challenge. It reminds us that purpose in life is a necessity, not a luxury, and that ignoring it can lead to deviation and the deepest suffering.