One of the most controversial subject matters for any medium is an unwanted pregnancy. In any other circumstance, you could be able to throw your problem in a hole and bury it, hiding it from the world while trying to move on from the shame you’re likely to have from it. Not with pregnancies. There’s a whole host of existential questions about the value of life that range from the spiritual to more ethical decisions. There is no right answer, though even the idea of women having a say over their own body has lead to many controversies and more than a few Planned Parenthoods being bombarded by protestors.
For some, it’s the belief that you’re killing a baby and thus are committing murder. Why should the unborn baby suffer for the ill behavior of the mother? On the other side, there are several reasons that make the mother more sympathetic. There could be reasons for sexual assault or even health reasons that make bringing the baby to term life-threatening. There’s also the reality that some people would be lousy mothers and be far more abusive to the child and lead them down an unfortunate path if they lived. Humanity is very complex, and it makes sense why unwanted pregnancies remain such a divisive subject.
In mainstream American cinema, the conversation has always shifted towards the safe option. To look at films like Knocked Up (2007), Juno (2007), and Waitress (2007) are to see personal journeys towards acceptance, of learning to live with this change. This isn’t to say that they all end the same (Juno ends with adoption and Waitress a single mother), but they reaffirm something conventional. It stigmatizes the alternative, making those who see it as their own choice as monsters incapable of being normal.
*NOTE: The rest of this essay will be talking about abortions not as an endorsement, but as a plot device.
That’s what makes Eliza Hittman’s Sundance hit Never Rarely Sometimes Always (2020) such a bold creation. The story focuses on Autumn (Sidney Flanigan) when she discovers that she is pregnant. She is a teenager, first seen performing in a talent show where the crowd before her judges her shortcomings. Like the story to come, she is riddled with fright as she looks at the crowd, realizing she is bearing her soul in an organized manner. She doesn’t seem as confident as everyone else, and there may be a variety of reasons.
The one that becomes clearest is that Autumn is pregnant. When taking account of her life, there’s so much that is terrible about this situation. She is immature and financially worse off (she can’t even pay for the upcoming abortion). Her life would be over if she kept the child and begins to freak out, doing self-destructive things like a self-imposed nose ring. She is trying to gain control of things through harmful behavior, but it won’t go away. This isn’t a dream. She really is pregnant and odds are that she’d be raising that child without a dedicated father and parents who she doesn’t seem to trust.
It’s Autumn against the world with only best friend Skylar (Talia Ryder) by her side. The journey begins in finding ways to terminate this part of her life. As she walks to the local clinic, she finds protestors out front. Having already seen her onstage before a judgmental crowd, it makes sense why she doesn’t proceed proudly. She doesn’t want to live with the guilt of everyone in town judging her.
To make matters worse, she can’t find any place nearby who has the ability to perform the procedure in a legal and professional way. She must travel to New York with Skylar, where they already are on tight funds. They hop onto trains, once again looking at a cruel world leering at them as they want to put this moment behind them. A man on the subway becomes aroused by Autumn, and it only gives off the sense of how the world sees her. They are fine objectifying her, but not taking care of her needs.
In one of 2020’s standout moments, Autumn finally arrives at the clinic and is asked what her plans are. There is something immediately disarming about this moment. For those who demonize clinics, it’s strange to hear the voice on the other end not asking questions of “How could you?” and instead of radiating an empathy that is almost uncomfortable in a different way. This is the first person in Autumn’s life to talk to her like a human as if this moment of her life isn’t the worst thing in the world.
The title refers to how Autumn is required to answer questions. For example: “How often do you have sex? Never, rarely, sometimes, always.”
These help to determine aspects of Autumn’s pregnancy but also allows for the audience to get a true sense of who she is. This is a revolutionary moment because it’s not treated like some major achievement, but a vulnerable moment of a woman finally being allowed to discuss aspects of her life that society has deemed inappropriate. Autumn is unable to fully be relieved by the questions not because the questions are difficult, but because the idea of people caring about her is so strange. She breaks down and cries, overwhelmed by kindness as the doctor says that she’s not only willing to help pay for the operation, but also provide her with someplace to stay.
Hittman’s ultimate goal with the story is to “normalize” the abortion process. There is no sensationalism to be found. What follows is something that feels grounded in painstaking research, capturing a sympathetic internal struggle that cinema has rarely allowed, let alone in this context. Women have been demonized for abortions with the common misconception that it leads to a lifelong regret and hysteria that they’re inadequate. Yes, it’s true that this can happen, but it’s a stereotype that has been hard to ignore.
Another recent film that has tackled the subject as a form of normalizing is fellow Sundance darling Obvious Child (2014). Director Gillian Robespierre’s debut features Jenny Slate as Donna Stern, a stand-up comedian whose love life is a mess. She is also unafraid to speak her mind, jumping on the stage following her latest heartbreak to create this self-effacing view of her life. She fits the mold of 2010s indie comedy’s view of 20-somethings, who struggle to make their way in the world and get wound up in nonsensical conversations.
Much like Slate, Donna is in love with goofy juvenile humor. She can’t have a serious conversation without breaking into a fart joke. Following her latest hook-up with Max (Jake Lacy), one drunken night leads to a pregnancy. With her best friend Nellie (Gaby Hoffmann) by her side, she begins to have a conversation about the best ways to go forward. There is a frank discussion about procedures that lacks any fanfare. It just happens as they wait for the pregnancy test to finish, believing that it’s the only way to happen.
The only difference is that Obvious Child isn’t wanting to address the hard parts of abortion like Never Rarely Sometimes Always. While they were allowed to use Planned Parenthood, there aren’t any protestors out front. There isn’t a whole lot of backlash at all. Nobody is really losing their mind because Donna is going through with this.
True, it’s to help us get more of a sense of how difficult this is for Donna. Whereas Autumn is a figure whose insecurity comes from the animosity being projected onto her, Donna is the only one who is projecting. It helps that Nellie has this sense of having lived through similar experiences, capable of guiding her. They’re adults navigating the world, and that already makes their struggles very different. While Donna and Autumn both aren’t able to afford the operation, there is more certainty that Donna can get the money together because she has a strong friend group. She also seems to like her parents, which is a big difference. Autumn doesn't even tell her parents that she's going to New York.
After the initial assessment, both stories take different approaches to the final goal. They’re the same, but Hittman’s drama is clearly the more difficult path. Autumn wants to get it over with but has to wait. The clinical detail is superb, reflecting on something that film hasn’t reflected before. Along with the intricate assessment, there is an additional two-part operation that first needs Autumn to wait while her body responds to an injection that prepares her. This is because she’s in her second trimester. She needs to come back in the morning, at which point it should be easy.
Unlike Donna, she can’t just go home and sleep in a bed, holding cute conversations with Nellie as they wait for things to happen. She is stuck in New York without enough money to get home. This enhances the audience’s understanding of how taxing an abortion can be, even if there are ways to ease the financial stress. There is no clear way to get home, and it results in Autumn and Skylar hanging out with a stranger, going bowling in the middle of the night, just to keep them entertained and not passed out on the street. Skylar even has to perform a sexual transaction just to get some money. Nothing about the process feels convenient and even with the operation being easy and “done in minutes,” the road there requires a strength that takes a toll on Autumn. By the end, the audience is relieved that it’s over while giving a bigger sense of how complicated this legal procedure is whether emotionally or financially.
Of course, the end goal for Obvious Child is a bit different. The pregnancy is more of an emotional burden for Donna, stopping her from living a normal life. In fact, the assessment scene is done with more of a comedic bent to it. While Donna has that wandering insecurity, looking at pictures of pregnancies and cervixes, she undercuts the seriousness with humor. To top things off, there’s conflict over what date she should have the abortion. Whereas Autumn is far into her pregnancy, Donna is still early enough that she has to wait for it to grow. This means that the earliest date is February 14, Valentine’s Day. Donna tries to figure out another date but realizes that February 15 is her mother’s birthday. It’s seen as comical that Donna is having a Valentine’s Day abortion.
Then again, Obvious Child is partially a satire of romantic comedies. It’s a story about Donna and Max’s relationship growing during this time. They end the film more comfortable than ever as if Donna just needed to get this one thing done before she could fall in love. Following the procedure, Donna takes to the stage and mentions how much more comfortable she is about abortions knowing that she is not alone in this vulnerable moment of her life. The set is treated as a moment of warmth, itself revolutionary since Robespierre has managed to make the whole thing feel not controversial or judgmental, but normal.
Even if both films end on a different note, they both have the same message at the end. For those who feel burdened by the way that society will treat them, there are others who have faced it. There’s just not a lot of conversation because of this. While Obvious Child is easily the more enjoyable, it’s because there’s less concern of judgment. Never Rarely Sometimes Always is a film that feels destined to be essential for those who want to know what it feels like to procure an abortion. There is the emotional and financial burden, but also the incredible sacrifice that goes into coming forward in the first place. Even then, this isn’t a film that gets it over with a quick cut but forces the viewer to go through every step with Autumn and understand that it’s not just a drive-thru. There’s a lot of opening yourself up and becoming vulnerable, where you feel alone until that person asking you questions says that everything’s fine.
Somehow that last part is the most groundbreaking, of not acting like the world is going to hell because you aren’t capable of raising a child. Knowing that you are not alone in your decision is the most powerful moment in the world, and it’s one that’s likely to resonate for decades not just for sheer boldness, but also for sheer empathy and understanding.
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