Looking at Washington, D.C. Through the Silver Screen

An underappreciated silver screen gem offers an intimate view of a metropolis more renowned for its criminal activities and politically-charged environment. The recent announcement that President Donald Trump is contemplating a federalization scheme to tackle the city’s notorious crime issues seems to resonate with me, given my brushes with residing in Washington, D.C. Throughout my life, I primarily inhabited various suburbs scattered across Ohio, and it always surprises people to learn that I spent a considerable amount of my past dwelling near some of America’s largest cities.

In my childhood, my family resided in the suburbs of New Orleans, which in our minds (and regaling of stories) amounted to essentially being inhabitants of the renowned Crescent City, despite the lake separating us. Fast forward to a few years later in my life, I fondly remember calling a Maryland suburb my home. My regular spots around the area included the AFI Silver Theatre and Cultural Center in Silver Spring, where I watched many cinematic triumphs; a Virginian mall located in Tysons Corner; and an art-house cinema nestled within the city on E Street.

Undeniably, my predilections veered more towards consumerism rather than history as, quite astonishingly, I didn’t set foot in either the Smithsonian or the Library of Congress. However, my memory does recall stumbling upon the National Cathedral while attending a film festival at a Wisconsin Avenue cinema. In my justification, I could point towards a remote familial connection with the area. Like me, my parents were staunch Midwesterners but spent some time residing near the federal capital.

A few years prior to my birth, my parents took residence in Bethesda. As per my mother’s meticulous records, she and my father spent a brief six-month period living there, a fact that can only find credence when considering their capricious decision to move to Florida for merely 24 hours. I can corroborate their D.C. stay through an old photograph, depicting my tourist mother outside the White House during what I presume was the Carter Administration.

This gave my modest brush with life in D.C. the warmth and familiarity of a cherished memory and amplifies my admiration for what I consider a modern archetype of a brilliant movie set in D.C.—Mike Nichols’ 1986 film, Heartburn. Heartburn features Meryl Streep in the role of Rachel, a writer echoing the personality of Nora Ephron, which isn’t surprising since Ephron herself penned the book on which the film was based.

Jack Nicholson portrays Rachel’s charming but untrustworthy partner, Mark, who assumes the highly regarded role of a political columnist in Washington, D.C. Once they get hitched, the film transitions from Rachel’s hometown of New York to D.C., making Heartburn a rarity—a romantic comedy unfolding within the Beltway that doesn’t pivot around politicians.

The film’s narrative revolves around Mark and Rachel’s struggles to get any substantial work from the contractor hired to refurbish their prospective beautiful townhouse. ‘We got a good price on it because they had a, sort of, fire,’ Rachel comments, showcasing Streep’s remarkable comedic prowess. An iconic scene unfolds when Mark, ferrying a laboring Rachel to the hospital, speeds down a near-deserted street, with the Capitol in the distance. Here Heartburn contrasts D.C.’s quieter side against the hive of activity that is Fifth Avenue.

While the city and its green suburbs project a gravitas, the film’s characters seem to inhabit a Peyton Place-esque drama. The chatty social figure, played by Catherine O’Hara, speculates about a noticeable woman having an illicit affair—hinting at it maybe involving a Washington Bullets team member. The film’s endearing allure lies in its small-town vibe, teasing out the charms of seemingly mundane events.

Ultimately, Heartburn paints a portrait of Washington, D.C., as a tight-knit community where whispers of dalliances and secret affairs reach every corner, even if they only concern romantic trysts. There’s a remarkable scene where Rachel, at her chatty hairdresser, overhears a conversation about suspected infidelity that mirrors her own anxieties. The revelation is handled with cinematic brilliance. Rachel subsequently escapes to New York.

The film, Heartburn, has made me perceive Washington, D.C., in a completely new light, affirming the truth behind Harry Truman’s famous assertion: ‘If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.’