Review
Culture
Film & TV
Mental Health
Trauma
5 min read

The battle between seen and unseen pain

Jesse Eisenberg explores how the generations cope with pain.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Two male cousins converse across the aisle of a train.
Kieran Culkin and Jesse Eisenberg.

In today’s ultra-developed world, where technological and medical advances have reached unprecedented heights, suffering remains an unsolved problem. While the World Health Organization claims the successful prevention, elimination, or treatment of more diseases than ever before, it also highlights significant increases in anxiety, depression, and stress-related disorders worldwide. This paradox raises questions not only about the root causes of mental health suffering but also about the way we understand its current prevalence and impact. Are today’s struggles any different to those others have experienced before us? Is the pain equally real? As we approach the eightieth anniversary of Holocaust Memorial Day, can we truly equate the silent struggles of contemporary emotional health challenges with the unimaginably harrowing experiences of those who endured the worst horrors of war, violence, and genocide?  

Jesse Eisenberg dares to tackle these complex questions with his directorial debut, A Real Pain, a masterful exploration of trauma, resilience, and the search for meaning. Co-starring Kieran Culkin in a career-defining performance, the film takes viewers on a journey that is part road trip, part comedy-drama, part historical reflection, and wholly compelling. I believe it offers a timely and deeply thought-provoking challenge to consider how we recognise and process pain across generations as well as understand the way pain shapes – and reshapes – our lives.  

In the film, Eisenberg and Culkin portray two estranged Jewish-American cousins, David and Benji, who embark on a shared mission to retrace the steps of their grandmother, a Holocaust survivor. What begins as a simple road trip to Poland quickly transforms into something much more as the brutal reality of intergenerational trauma and mental health struggles rise to the surface.  The film’s themes can be explored through three key lenses: the passing on of pain, the proximity of pain, and the problem of pain. 

The passing on of pain 

At its heart, A Real Pain is a story about legacy—the burdens and blessings passed down through generations. Though their shared grandmother is no longer alive, her story of survival, resilience, and eventual flourishing has left a profound impact on her descendants. Her story draws the cousins in, but it also draws them together and apart in different ways over the course of the trip. There is tragedy and comedy, and poignant moments of connection as well as frustration as Eisenberg explores how trauma echoes through generations, affecting different people in different ways, weighing heavily on those who did not live through the original events. This theme is handled with nuance showing both the strength and fragility that come from confronting a painful past. Ultimately it brings us to a new question – how do we honour the suffering of those who came before us while also finding our own path, or paths, to healing? 

The proximity of pain 

As the cousins delve deeper into their family’s history, the film juxtaposes the grandmother’s resilience in the face of antisemitism, war, and Holocaust with Benji’s struggles. Despite severe loss, grief and trauma, the grandmother went on to live a meaningful life. Benji on the other hand struggles to keep on top of his daily responsibilities, hold down a job, and maintain relationships. He struggles to find any meaning in his life and reveals he has attempted suicide. How, he wonders, did his grandmother find the strength to fight for her life against the backdrop of the Holocaust when he can’t even navigate the relative peace of middle-class America? This question seems to add to his despair. He seems thoroughly beaten.  

Eisenberg does not provide easy answers but instead invites viewers to wrestle with these complexities of life and death, resilience, and vulnerability. He forces us to confront our assumptions about suffering and strength. By making us reflect on which pain is more real, he seems to have found a way to challenge us both to honour the reality of past trauma and recognise the reality of the struggles faced by those around us.  He has certainly found a way to help us empathise both with the millions of people who are currently displaced and traumatised by violence, conflict, and displacement, and, equally, with the millions whose mental health is in tatters.   

The problem of pain 

At its core, A Real Pain tackles the universal question: what do we do with suffering? Do we bury it in the past? Do we pretend it does not exist? Do we insulate ourselves from the pain of others? Do we respond with frustration and anger or with patience and empathy? Do we accept pain as a tragic by-product of existence? Do we struggle under the burden of it? Do we let it defeat us? Do we find ways to learn from it? Can pain make us stronger? Can it make us better people? Does it point to something deeper within us or, indeed, something beyond us? 

Right in the middle of the film, David and Benji meet a survivor of the Rwandan genocide. who provides a stark reminder that the horrors of the Holocaust are not just consigned to history, that even today there are places where entire people groups are being targeted, destroyed, and displaced. This character has clearly found solace and meaning through his faith, in contrast to the cousins’ secular Jewish identities. The tension between belief and unbelief runs through the film and reflects the wider experience of many for whom pain has been a critical factor in their journey either to faith or away from it.  

For C.S. Lewis, the author of the Narnia chronicles who offered spiritual solace to the nation during the Second World War and who was personally familiar with suffering writes: “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” Pain, for many Christians like Lewis is supposed to draw us towards faith – it is an urgent invitation to seek meaning and connection in a fractured world. Pain reminds us of our mortality and vulnerability, and our dependence not just on others, but perhaps too on an Almighty being who offers hope, healing and the promise of a life beyond this in a world where there is no more death, no more tears, no more pain.  

With A Real Pain, Jesse Eisenberg has crafted a film that will make you laugh and cry and think and discuss and reach out to others, or even to God.  This film invites you to reflect on the past, present and future, to wrestle with the pain we carry and to seek meaning beyond it. It’s a must-watch for anyone who dares to reflect on life’s most profound questions.  

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Article
Culture
Death & life
Politics
3 min read

Is a funeral the right backdrop for diplomacy?

Where there's an unavoidable collision between the universal and the individual.

Jamie is Vicar of St Michael's Chester Square, London.

Trump and Zelensky sit and face each other.
Ukrainian Presidential Press Service.

There’s an episode of Yes, Prime Minister where a state funeral provides an opportunity for negotiations with the French over the Channel. As ever, this particular satire has aged well. Most of the coverage of Pope Francis’ requiem mass has focused on either the ‘spectacle’ or the chance for world leaders to connect. It's tempting to think that the main stage of St Peter's Basilica was actually a sideshow to the fringe events of politicians carving up the world. With all the planning and confections that go into usual geopolitical summits, Vatican City has provided a spectacular impromptu backdrop. 

As an Anglican priest, I have mixed feelings about this. All the photos world leaders have been pushing out seem not a million miles away from the shocking taste of selfies in front of an open casket (any casket, for that matter). On the other hand, when there’s matters of life and death to discuss, there’s no better venue than a funeral. 

Of course, this presupposes that leaders have the presence of mind to acknowledge the dead body before them (not 'passed away'), rather than simply going through the motions and thinking about the photo op. But the cogs of death cannot be avoided. 

Tim Hamer, writing for the Lowy Institute, says, ‘bitter rivals can acknowledge the rituals of mortality.’ Some of the figures about leaders attending recent funerals are staggering. Pope Francis' funeral was no different. Along with those Francis prioritised - those pushed to the margins - there was also a critical 'mass' of those at the very centre of society. There were 170 delegations, including 50 heads of state, 15 heads of government and 12 reigning monarchs. Emeritus Professor of International Relations at the University of Leicester, Geoff R. Berridge writes that: 

 “Because death is always with us … there is little doubt that the working funeral is now the most important ceremonial occasion in the world diplomatic system”.   

Therefore, the off chance of bilateral diplomacy must be taken to its full advantage. 

It is precisely because, while the bodies are lowered, funerals elevate us out of the everyday, the 24 hour news cycle and the doomscrolling, that they provide us with an opportunity to connect with what really matters. Less than 24 hours before he died, the pope delivered the words on Easter Sunday: 'Christ is risen! These words capture the whole meaning of our existence, for we were not made for death but for life… God created us for life and wants the human family to rise again!' As our multilateral world order falters, the human family just might be able to rise again when the powers-that-be meet at a funeral.  

We will have to wait and see if there is any fruit from the geopolitical meetings that have taken place. We can live in hope. If world leaders learnt any lessons from the enigmatic late pontiff, they would see that he was like Teflon to the political labels people tried to pin on him. You get the impression that he was aiming for something more lasting than soundbites, quick wins and popularity. 

I would also add that funerals are for the living. Once we've brushed aside any theological quibbles over the efficacy of praying for the dead, funerals are there to help us to grieve. They help us to process loss, which is why the 'mortal remains' remain. The ancient declarations, the homily, the breaking of bread and pouring of wine, yes even the theatrics help us to situate our own lives on a world stage where we are both bit parts as well as worthy of the undivided attention of many onlookers.  

In a world where geopolitics threatens to depersonalise and dehumanise countless millions of people, funerals unavoidably collide the universal with the individual. The context of worship and thanksgiving also lifts us out of the orbital pull of the ephemera of nation-states and our own lives to discover the possibility of revolving around Someone far grander and steadfast. Just like conducting diplomacy, there's no better place to consider death than a funeral. 

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