In Bradley Cooper’s latest film, Is This Thing On?, Will Arnett plays Alex, a suburban dad who finds new purpose after his divorce when he starts performing stand-up comedy.
While Alex and his wife, Tess (Laura Dern), have decided to end their marriage amicably, it’s hardly smooth sailing for either of them. Having been together 20 years, they’re forced to discover who they are alone and must navigate this major life change while raising their two 10-year-old sons.
Alex moves out of their house into an apartment in the West Village, Manhattan, and starts showing up to open mics, candidly saying whatever’s on his mind. He quickly discovers that he’s something of a natural, and what begins as a simple means of catharsis soon becomes a lifeline of community (and free booze).
Through Alex’s stand-up journey, the film shows how valuable investing in new hobbies can be, especially in middle age. It also posits that, as tough as separations are, they can be grounds for personal reinvention and some much-needed revelations—e.g., it’s not normal to hang a 24-by-36 framed photo of your ex on the wall of your bachelor pad.
I’d argue there are important lessons to be learned in every movie about marriages (or, rather, the ends of marriages). Some deeper than others, some morally, ethically, and legally questionable—but valuable nonetheless.
Even if it hurts to renege on staying together “in sickness and in health,” there’s a lot to be said for protecting your mental health and accepting that a good thing can sometimes turn sour. Here are my biggest takeaways from 23 classic movies about the difficulties of divorce, which I’m certain will make me a way better person.
The First Wives Club
Revenge is best accomplished with a girl squad.
While I’m very pro–independent woman, let’s get real: None of these ladies would’ve gotten very far without having the power of numbers on their side. One’s depressed, another’s struggling with alcoholism, a third’s realizing that her husband’s crappy electronics business was the only thing standing between her and brokedom. The best each of them could’ve done on their own would maybe be to slash their ex’s tires (then become racked with guilt and immediately fess up).
This movie reinforces my long-held theory that the most effective way to get things done is to form a club around whatever you’re trying to accomplish. Merely a “group” is boring. But a club? Bitches love a club. If/when I’m a divorcée, I’m starting a club where all we do is delete our old couples photos off Instagram and drink rosé in tiny glasses with our pinkies up.
The War of the Roses
The weirder your lawyer is, the more legal loopholes they’ll find.
I have to respect Oliver Rose’s utter panache in depriving his soon-to-be ex-wife, Barbara, of their perfect, ivy-covered home. His ruthless attorney, Gavin D'Amato (played by Danny DeVito), ingeniously finds legal precedent to take Barbara’s beloved mansion away from her. Yet, despite Gavin’s legal savvy, he’s somehow still zany enough to think humans evolved from mud and admit that he hasn’t “been into feet since ’82.” The man makes no sense, but then again—does any Danny DeVito character ever? By the time Oliver fires Gavin, it’s a real bummer to see him go. Goodbye to a lewd lawyer for the ages.
Eat Pray Love
Book the flight.
There’s a reason every woman will—at some point between the ages of 20 and 40—post an Instagram thirst trap with “Eat Pray Love” as the caption. Everything about this movie is a lesson in how to build a bridge and get over it, from the sensuous spaghetti slurping at an Italian trattoria to the morning prayers at the Indian ashram. I would almost certainly hate this movie if it were made in 2026, but because it’s bathed in the warm glow of Obama-era optimism, I give it a pass. Book the flight, girlfriend. Carpe diem.
Intolerable Cruelty
Never trust a Swiss hotel concierge.
Despite her many faults (e.g., making “divorcée” her career), Marilyn Rexroth is a woman worth rooting for (e.g., she’s confident, strategic, and able to pull off a hat with a brim the size of a spaceship). Hence why it’s so upsetting when this smarmy little man spills all her secrets on the witness stand—and with a Pomeranian on his lap, too! (I don’t know why that’s a strike against him, but it definitely is.)
This film just goes to show you should never get too close to hotel staffers, a job in which it’s practically required to savor the dramatic mishaps of rich and unstable people. And no hate to the Swiss, but let’s not kid ourselves: They’re not the nicest brand of European … a little pretentious, a little self-obsessed, a little too likely to screw over a badass woman just trying to get ahead.
Shoot the Moon
A Marin County farmhouse won’t solve all your problems.
Whenever a movie is set in NorCal, I adjust my expectations accordingly. I.e., I remember that I’ll need to suspend my disbelief because the characters are comfortably middle class yet, somehow, living in what is almost certainly a $2 million oceanside bungalow.
But the biggest surprise in Shoot the Moon might be watching George and Faith’s marriage crumble inside a sprawling, ranch-style home with incredible wine storage space. Yes, they’re getting a tennis court built, but Faith is still having to comfort their sobbing children! Yes, they have at least 10 acres, but George is still breaking down doors in a fit of rage!
Turns out, money really won’t buy you happiness, and true schadenfreude is watching two beautiful people argue and cry in a home that has surely appreciated in value by at least 200 percent since this movie was made. I’m so grateful that ugly divorces transcend Bay Area real estate envy.
Blue Valentine
You can’t save a marriage with a cool motel room.
Staycations are an old-school “We can still make this marriage work” move. A couple fights, they reach a breaking point, and one of them says, “You know what would change things? A place with an icebox and a view of an out-of-service hot tub.”
That Dean decides to give Cindy a night away as an apology gift is no surprise; that’s classic husband-who’s-been-relegated-to-the-couch behavior. The more illuminating lesson here is that even a motel with a cool as FUCK “Future Room” is still not enough to repair marital toxicity. Moody blue lighting, a circular bed that spins. Even extremely snazzy sci-fi decor can only do so much to mend broken hearts.
The Parent Trap
Remarriage is only a good idea if instigated by precocious identical twins.
Every relationship ends for a reason, and I generally believe that when it’s over, it should stay over—especially if you were married. In Nick and Liz’s divorce, I’m sure location played a large role: he, a California wine grower, and she, a wedding gown designer from London. Never mind their mutual attraction; they wanted totally different lives.
(Side note: Was their decision to tear their twin daughters apart shortly after birth and never tell them about each other a good idea? Definitely not! It’s one thing to split custody, but never even informing them of the other’s existence is truly diabolical parenting.)
In any other instance, I would say: No. Never rekindle this. Let sleeping dogs lie. But how often is it that your identical twin daughters meet mid–summer camp fencing match, piece together the puzzle of your relationship, and then set out to reunite you? The odds are, like, lower than me making a 3-pointer, and that’s saying a lot. So, as tempting as it is to let the past stay in the past, perhaps the universe was indeed relaying a message. Twins are freaky and powerful and maybe/probably psychically connected, so it’s best to just do what they say.
Mr. Wonderful
Don’t get divorced if you want to open a bowling alley.
I respect any man with big dreams, especially if they involve a business that’s almost certain to lose money and make friends wonder, “Is he OK, or is this some weird childhood trauma finally manifesting?” That’s why it’s so devastating to watch Gus, a divorced electrician, experience setback after setback in his entrepreneurial pursuits, all because of some pesky alimony payments. Fortunately, he does eventually succeed in opening his lanes (much to the joy of blue-collar Brooklyn’s avid bowling community, I’m sure), but not without a lot of sacrifice. No one should have to sell their incredibly baller classic convertible just to live the American dream, but alas … divorce is expensive.
Enough Said
Don’t befriend your massage therapist.
This would be a breezy, drama-less love story if Marianne and Eva had simply kept work and friendship separate … enough said. I’m sure in both women’s minds, this was a win-win: Marianne got a discount on her massages; Eva got a client she could gab with during deep-tissue kneading. But you never know who knows (or has been married to) whom. I hate to say it, but I doubt folks who live in Pacific Palisades have super varied social circles. Best to just cut your losses and not get too close too fast, lest you learn your new buddy was the bitch who dented your car in the Erewhon parking lot and then fled the scene.
Waiting to Exhale
There’s no need to play it cool in divorce court.
An unspoken rule of divorce proceedings: Each party (though the expectations are usually heavier on the wife) must handle what comes to them—good or bad—with graceful aplomb. You got the lakehouse? Allow yourself a small smile. But, wait, he’s still getting the Jet Ski? An eye roll is justified. Common decorum dictates that both spouses act civil and nonchalant, at least until the judge needs a bathroom break.
Bernadine, however, does not give two shits about hiding her utter glee when she’s granted her and her husband’s Acapulco home, $500,000 in stocks and bonds, and their E 320 Mercedes (yes, it’s a station wagon—but still!). Our hero laughs, cries, and hugs her besties, basking in her hard-fought victory. (However, she’s still classy enough to give her now-ex a solid “Good luck to ya, buddy” handshake.)
Three Colors: White
Take some time to weigh the pros and cons before faking your own death.
We’ve all thought about it, haven’t we? It’s a great way to, one, exact revenge on whomever it is you choose to frame and, two—and more importantly—become the sort of storied yet mysterious figure who frequents bars on a small island in the South Pacific. When/if this urge comes to you (perhaps in the midst of a bitter divorce), it’s very important not to immediately give in to the impulse. How much do you really want your spouse to suffer? Is there even the slightest chance of reconciliation? I recommend watching It’s a Wonderful Life or reading A Tale of Two Cities before putting your plan into action.
Crazy, Stupid, Love
Don’t befriend womanizers.
When the recently divorced Cal starts chatting with notorious ladies’ man Jacob, it seems like a (platonic) match made in heaven: Jacob finally has a chance to flex the various tips and tricks of seduction he’s perfected, and Cal gets a transformation equal to something off of Queer Eye (although, regrettably, Jacob does not recommend a cheeky French tuck). But what starts as a mutual ego trip with all the makings of a buddy comedy soon turns sour as Cal learns the hard way that treating women like collectibles does, indeed, have repercussions.
Suave makeovers are all fun and games until a scorned woman hits you with the “You never called” and makes you realize you’ve entered a weird, middle-aged fuckboy era you will soon regret. Plus, what if your new ladies’ man bestie is, like … in a situationship with your daughter? And wanting you to know that he’s madly, deeply in love with her? And questioning everything he’s ever thought about pursuing women? It’s enough to break any vulnerable, mid-divorce father—and break Cal, it nearly does.
An Unmarried Woman
Artists can be great rebounds.
Creative folks get a (deservedly) bad rap in the dating world: They’re self-obsessed, unreliable, moody, and apt to turn your arguments into their next great masterpiece. But for these exact same reasons, they’re great distractions from divorce. It’s only right that Erica shacks up with Saul, an abstract painter, during her separation; he’s the antithesis of her successful businessman husband, with unbuttoned collared shirts that boast his bohemianism and a bushy beard that screams, “Yeah, I’m transgressive; soak it in.” While Erica and Saul’s relationship is rocky from the get-go, it’s also just what she needs to establish herself as a newly—you guessed it—unmarried woman.
Kramer vs. Kramer
Don’t force your kid to eat a Salisbury steak.
In typical single-dad fashion, Ted Kramer thinks that feeding his child a lump of processed meat is peak nutrition. (My dad went the Hamburger Helper route, but to each their own.) Young Billy throws a tantrum, spoiling Ted’s mood for the whole rest of the evening, but can you blame the poor kid? While no one should expect a newly divorced father to pull out all the culinary stops, you can’t give a 7-year-old a gravy-smothered brick and expect him to be cool with it. Billy was already traumatized by the split, and now you’re going to traumatize him again? I’d like to imagine that Ted eventually learns to cook, but in reality, I’m sure there are many other mystery meats in Billy’s future.
Marriage Story
The NYC-L.A. divide is insurmountable.
Plenty of people say they’d love to be bicoastal, but this is often nothing more than a quixotic fantasy. Six-hour flights, time zone differences, the whiplash between taking the subway and spending hours in traffic on the 405—is it really worth it?
Though I admire Nicole and Charlie for their valiant efforts to at least imagine a world in which this could work for their marriage, they were doomed from the get-go. Charlie’s a Broadway director with a god complex and a MacArthur Fellowship; of course he’s loyal to New York. While it’s all well and good to break into mournful showtunes at a Hell’s Kitchen bar, you’ll get a very different reception among the Netflix executives and TikTokers of L.A. watering holes.
Heartburn
An affair isn’t over when a cheating husband says it’s over.
I sympathize with Rachel, I really do. It can’t be easy to find out your husband is risking it all for a woman named Thelma. (There’s no name less sexy than Thelma.) However, it is a bit dense of her to forgive Mark when he later claims the affair is totally donezo. Men are famously simple creatures with the exception of one thing, and that is extramarital relations. What seems clean and straightforward is never clean and straightforward, especially when your husband is Jack Nicholson being his usual cocky yet charismatic self. And he’s a D.C. political columnist! Who knows what expert tricks of deception he’s picked up from the Washington elite?
Liar Liar
You’ve gotta respect a gold digger.
As Samantha Cole so eloquently puts it: “I am not going to end up a 31-year-old divorcée with no money because my scumbag attorney had a sudden attack of conscience.” And you know what? I support her. While the way Samantha goes about getting her bag is not what one would call “classy,” it’s respectable as a big swing. With $11 million to use however she pleases, I can only hope she buys another gold-laced skirt suit and weds someone even richer than her ex.
The Philadelphia Story
Don’t let your dad dictate your divorce.
Even though I relish the mess of this Real Housewives–esque love story, all of the hubbub could’ve been avoided if Tracy Lord had just put her foot down when her father demanded she divorce C.K. Dexter Haven. I know, I know—it was a different time, women had a lot less agency, etc., etc. However, any character played by Katharine Hepburn is, by default, going to be something of a wisecracking baddie, so I’m certain she could’ve swayed Daddy with some smooth talk.
Granted, Mr. Lord made some valid points: Dexter was not exactly what one would call a doting husband. Rather, he had a raging alcohol problem and was a pain in Tracy’s ass. But maybe, just maybe, without dad’s influence, her empathy would’ve won out, and all this second-wedding-to-a-man-with-a-weird-tiny-mustache nonsense would’ve been nipped in the bud.
Boyhood
Stepparents who enforce haircuts are bad news.
There are plenty of reasons to be suspicious of Bill Welbrock, the man Olivia Evans marries after her divorce from Mason Evans Sr. To name a few: He is her professor, is on the fast-track to alcoholism, and wears the type of sunglasses exclusive to men who make buying a boat their whole personality.
But his most egregious offense is making Olivia’s son, Mason, shave off his shaggy hair: a demand that, in the still-weird Austin of the early 2000s, feels especially cruel and unusual. Now, to fit in at school, Mason will have to either really up his Pokémon card game or make particularly mean jokes about the two girls who accidentally wear the same exact Aéropostale shirt one day. The haircut is also a warning sign of bad things to come in Olivia and Bill’s marriage—an early manifestation of how Bill’s need for control comes to poison the “big happy family” they’ve built together.
The Royal Tenenbaums
There’s no need to file for divorce right away.
As is the case for every Wes Anderson character, Royal and Etheline Tenenbaum are two seriously cool cats: New Yorkers of discerning taste and copious tweed, statement glasses, and well-tailored blazers. They’re also chill and laissez-faire enough not to rush into legal divorce proceedings, leading to a decades-long separation that seems to be an afterthought for both parties. (After all, their eccentric children’s antics are far more pressing.)
Royal and Etheline are a testament to the fact that paperwork isn’t everything; people can go about their lives just fine (for decades) without every t crossed and i dotted. Granted, Etheline does seem relieved when Royal eventually signs and makes things official, but that’s really just because it means she can now legally marry her longtime beau, Henry (a.k.a. the most patient man alive).
Mrs. Doubtfire
Uneven custody agreements are no biggie if you can do accents.
First things first: The fact that Daniel gets only Saturday visiting rights with his kids is pretty fair considering he’s unemployed and technically unhoused. However, if we’re talking moral fairness, it’s absolutely not cool for such a devoted dad to be cast aside as a weekend afternoon sidebar. That’s why it’s such a relief that all it takes for Daniel to get around these limitations is an uppity Scottish accent, a fake résumé, and some floral sweaters.
Voice acting is not an often-praised career path, but it sure pays off for Daniel when he gets to spend more time with his kids than ever before (and is forced to finally learn some basic household skills). Had this brilliant scheme been conducted with half-assed character building and an inconsistent accent, Daniel would’ve been found out immediately, but thankfully, he knows how to properly pronounce and spell crucial Scottish-isms, such as the last name “Smythe.”
The Squid and the Whale
Even gorgeous New York brownstones can contain deep animosity.
As a Park Slope–adjacent Brooklynite, I am well aware of this area’s monied, stroller-pushing intellectuals, with their luscious, semiprivate backyards and gilded doorknobs. They have it all … or do they? In this film, we see Bernard and Joan Berkman fall apart among professional rivalries, custody disagreements, and fraught new relationships—to the point where even their two sons can’t cope with the stress and begin to crash out.
Yes, their home is a four-story Italianate with crown molding and four fireplaces, but their problems are no less real because of this. It’s easy to be jealous of their square footage and bucolic, tree-lined street, but then I remember how Bernard—in full rebound/crisis mode—lets his girlfriend (also his student) move in with him, and how selfishly both of them behave when their sons are so clearly struggling. Would the access to Prospect Park and an easy commute into midtown make up for so much unbearable strife? No … probably.
It’s Complicated
Yes … yes it is.
Well, this title just kinda sums it up, huh? In classic Nancy Meyers fashion, our protagonist, Jane, is torn between two men: one, her ex-husband, and the other, the architect remodeling her home. Love, marriage, parenting, dating: All of these are extremely, maddeningly complicated, and oftentimes, we don’t give ourselves enough grace to acknowledge that. Perhaps the best course of action during life’s inevitable woes is to simply strap in and embrace the ride (at least until your adult children start asking questions).
