Sofia Coppola’s On the Rocks is an absolutely lovely and effervescent film that is all-too-easy to dismiss on account of Coppola’s ease and effortless grace in pulling off such a charming romantic comedy. Even though the film may take on many of the beats and even the form of a screwball comedy, it still contains all of Coppola’s languid rhythms that captures the monotony of life within the cages that women find themselves – gilded or otherwise. Murray and Jones make for a delightful comedic pairing and have a sparkling onscreen chemistry, and it’s charming to see Coppola poking a bit at Murray’s offscreen persona in this portrayal of a father who constantly uses his privilege in some of the most obnoxious ways to flirt, get out of altercations with the police, and railroad others into doing what he wants. The film’s loose, shaggy-dog detective narrative ends on a surprisingly honest note that confounds most of the expectations we bring to the film – after decades of exposure to more emotionally explosive conclusions in romantic comedies, it’s nice to have something so quiet and honest. Coppola captures the monotony of married life with a graceful efficiency – cutting from a shot of the happily married couple skinny dipping, their clothes on the ground, to a shot of the children’s clothes on the floor as Jones’s character cleans up after her family. Similarly, Coppola uses delightfully comic montages of ferrying children from one activity to another, compressing each one subsequent sequence, until we’re left with the impression that this routine is just one more unbearable burden on Jones as she believes that her marriage is falling apart. It’s a lovely little film, rich in details and honest about the fears and the anxieties of a marriage in distress.
