Carousel Review: Impressionistic Romantic Drama Says Everything in the Space Between Words (original) (raw)

4

Published Jan 26, 2026, 9:01 AM EST

Gregory Nussen is the Lead Film Critic for Screen Rant. They have previously written for Deadline Hollywood, Slant Magazine, Backstage and Salon. Other bylines: In Review Online, Vague Visages, Bright Lights Film Journal, The Servant, The Harbour Journal, Boing Boing Knock-LA & IfNotNow's Medium. They were the recipient of the 2022 New York Film Critics Circle Graduate Prize in Criticism, and are a proud member of GALECA, the Society of LGBTQ Entertainment Critics. They co-host the Great British Baking Podcast. Gregory also has a robust performance career: their most recent solo performance, QFWFQ, was nominated for five awards, winning Best Solo Theatre at the Hollywood Fringe Festival in 2025.

Carousel is a textured, impressionistic portrait of poor adult communication in the throes of depression. Director Rachel Lambert frames most of her tender drama off-center and in cross-sections, and many scenes consist solely of fragments of conversation or the tail end of actions, as if her characters cannot even hear or see themselves. It is a film which labels its characters' ills without ever really labeling it head on, because to do so would betray the DNA of people who are ill-equipped to look head on at what is nagging them.

Lambert's previous film, Sometimes I Think About Dying, introduced a filmmaker whose particular wavelength challenges our notions of traditional means of storytelling. On paper, Carousel sounds relatively conventional: a newly divorced family doctor (Chris Pine) rekindles an old flame (Jenny Slate) while struggling to keep his medical practice afloat. Yet, in practice, Carousel aims for something much more haptic and complex. It is a story about pushing past boundaries so well-established that they've metastasized to the degree that even the physical frame of the cinema keeps its characters locked in. Beautiful and gently stirring, Lambert's film works best on the backs of Pine and Slate's performances, both of which are amongst the best of each actor's respective careers.

Pine plays Noah, a family physician whose divorce has left him frequently despondent. The doctor's ability to empathize with his patients doesn't seem to extend to the way he treats himself, and keeps him from acknowledging the severe pain his daughter, Maya (Abby Ryder Fortson) is bottling inside to dangerous degrees. He is nothing if not committed to emotional avoidance. Though his office is hemorrhaging money, he's not a very good capitalist, looking the other way or else bending the rules to avoid charging patients wherever he can.

Rebecca, meanwhile (Slate), is in Ohio to help her parents with the sale of her childhood home. A political speechwriter with high aspirations, Rebecca seems to be avoiding the career ladder she could easily climb in front of her. Running into Noah only makes that decision both easier and harder. It is easier to look away from job prospects in D.C. when you're falling in love. It is also harder to do so when you're not sure what it is you're giving up.

The exact details of Rebecca and Noah's previous relationship are never fully disclosed, but it is clear the two have hurt each other in equal measure, with neither person fully willing to admit fault without giving up their righteous, bottled-up anger. But even clearer than that is a genuinely deep connection which only flourishes thanks to a shared love of Maya, who has just joined the debate team that Rebecca coaches.

... it is to the film's credit that, even though we watch these characters behave foolishly, hopelessly, even poorly, we want them all to find their heart nonetheless.

The confluence of Noah's divorce with the impending retirement of his longtime colleague (Sam Waterston) creates a sort of ticking time bomb of anxiety for all parties involved, and it is to the film's credit that, even though we watch these characters behave foolishly, hopelessly, even poorly, we want them all to find their heart nonetheless. Lambert shoots nearly the entire film with a fixed camera, a painterly decision which gives her characters the room to speak for themselves, even when they are hopeless at doing so. But she has patience for us, and for them, and trusts that maybe, if they can find some grace, they'll find the right words to express themselves.

One of the quiet stars of Carousel is Dabney Morris's jazz score, which filters in and out in mournful and gentle caress. There's a feeling in the film, which the music underscores, that these are characters whose fates are drawing them together, even when they feel like nothing is guaranteed, or even easy. Or even when you have no idea what to say, as in the film's extraordinary final scene, in which all that is said, is said in the silence between words. Carousel is a moving romance in all the ways it isn't romantic. Life is stilted, and it's hard. Though, if you're going to ride the carousel in circles, it's nice to at least have a partner to sit next to.

carousel-poster.jpg

Release Date

January 22, 2026

Director

Rachel Lambert

Writers

Rachel Lambert

Producers

Alex Saks, Bobby Daly Jr., Chris Pine, David Lipper, Ian Gotler

Cast