A24 Film No. 9: Obvious Child (2014)

 

Obvious Child (Gillian Robespierre) is, in its essence, a movie about growing up —not in the teenage years, but at the young-adult stage, when one is supposed to already be an adult, yet feels stuck in the failed promises of adult life and the unaccomplished dreams that once felt very certain. It is about growing up while being allowed to make mistakes (some definitely bigger than others) and still continuing. In this sense, the film suggests that adulthood is not a fixed state but a process, one in which failure, uncertainty, and difficult choices are not signs of defeat, but part of becoming.

The film follows Donna (Jenny Slate), an amateur stand-up comedian, at a turning point in her life in which everything seems to be going wrong. She has just been dumped by her boyfriend, who has been cheating on her with another friend, and the bookstore where she works is closing in six weeks, leaving her unemployed (and with lots of debts). Moreover, there is the threat of her thirties approaching (as her mother keeps reminding her), which serves as a symbolic marker of “real adulthood,” while her dreams and goals remain unaccomplished (though she does not express them directly).

Her emotional fall is portrayed through her stand-up performances, in which she spills out her feelings about her current failures in ways that are both raw and uncomfortable. It is interesting to see how the film's comedy functions as a form of self-exploration and expression, not necessarily with the immediate aim of emotional growth, but at least as a way to let things off her chest. In different routines, she moves from discussing her personal life to reflecting on what adulthood was supposed to look like, exposing the gap between expectation and reality.

When her boss at the bookstore tells her, within the first ten minutes of the movie, “Change is good, Donna,” the film establishes the premise that her life is about to shift entirely, and that something meaningful, perhaps even good, might emerge from what initially feels like collapse.

After a one-night stand with a man she meets at a bar (Max, played by Jake Lacy), Donna finds out she is pregnant. The pregnancy does not arrive as a moment of romantic destiny or moral crisis, but in the middle of this already unstable period in her life. After the initial shock, she decides she wants to get an abortion. The film treats this decision seriously, but without dramatizing it into spectacle. The conversations between Donna and her friends feel real, very awkward, yet supportive. There are no ideological or moral debates, which is how the topic is often portrayed; instead, they are intimate exchanges about what this decision means for her life.

The abortion also becomes a way of reopening communication with her mother. Initially, it seems like another opportunity for disappointment or conflict, especially given her mother’s judgmental stance toward what she sees as Donna’s careless life. Yet the situation ultimately creates space for honesty and what could have been framed as rupture becomes, instead, an opening for vulnerability.

Abortion, politics, and art

However, the fact that abortion is not treated as an explicit ideological or moral battleground in the film does not mean that it is devoid of political implications. On the contrary, Obvious Child is political in its very framing. It demonstrates how art can articulate a political position not through overt argumentation, but through normalization. By presenting abortion as an ordinary, pragmatic decision embedded in everyday life, the film implicitly defends women’s autonomy over their own bodies. Released in 2014, the film predates both the resurgence of feminist movements such as #MeToo and the 2022 overturning of Roe v. Wade. Situated in this pre-2022 landscape, Obvious Child does not appear burdened by the pressure to be explicitly declarative or confrontational in its politics (one cannot help but wonder how the film might look if produced in the present moment). Instead, its politics operate through tone and representation rather than direct advocacy. Viewed retrospectively, the film gains additional resonance. What may have felt like a quiet normalization in 2014 now reads as a more pointed intervention. In this sense, it becomes not only a product of its moment, but also a text that can be mobilized to think through contemporary debates about reproductive rights and the cultural framing of abortion.

It is especially striking to see a comedy treating abortion in such a real and serious way (two things one would not immediately imagine together). The abortion is even incorporated into one of Donna’s stand-up routines, where she confesses to it and invites others to laugh at the absurdity of her situation. But it is not reduced to a joke. Rather, the performance becomes a way of processing the experience, of taking some of its emotional weight off. The film does not trivialize the subject, nor does it turn it into a moral battleground. Instead, it situates abortion within the messy, imperfect, deeply human process of figuring life out.

Importantly, the film visually reinforces that Donna is not alone. In one of the final scenes at the clinic, she sits in a room with other women who are also there to have abortions. The scene quietly evokes a sense of sisterhood: different women, different stories, but all sharing the same space and experience. The moment normalizes what is often portrayed as an isolating experience, suggesting that this is not an exceptional or shameful event, but part of many women’s lives. Growing up here is not a solitary act and it is embedded in a collective female experience.

The abortion functions as the gravitas of the story (the definitive breaking point for the character) but it is not framed as an “end.” It is part of her growing-up process, something real rather than abstract. As she declares in one of her routines, she is going to be okay. This sense of reassurance continues in the final scene, when Donna and Max watch a movie together after the abortion. The intimacy is quiet and ordinary, without grand declarations. It suggests not only that she is going to be okay, but also that she deserves to be loved and cared for. Max’s presence does not “save” her or redefine the abortion as tragic. Instead, it reinforces that life continues, relationships can still form, and tenderness remains possible. The film closes not on punishment or regret, but on stability and possibility.

Obvious Child ultimately reframes both adulthood and abortion. It presents them not as abstract ideas, but as lived experiences: imperfect and deeply personal. Growing up here is not only about achieving stability or fulfilling dreams on schedule: it is about confronting difficult realities, making choices, and continuing forward nonetheless.