Writer/director/actor Edward Burns seems to have a predilection for putting infidelity and broken families at the center of his films. The formula: Throw in a few siblings having hard luck with their relationships or marriages and watch what happens. For 30 years, from 1995’s The Brothers McMullen to 2025’s Millers in Marriage, the only things that change are the motives and the outcomes. What isn’t arguable is that these are very well-put-together morality plays and exquisitely acted, and that doesn’t change with Millers in Marriage.
Burns has a distinct way of drawing viewers into the drama surrounding his characters and making it personable, identifiable, and ultimately damning. He draws upon talented performers to give their best to his stories, involving us to the point where we couldn’t look away even if we tried, no matter how convoluted or wince-inducing his characters’ actions might be. Millers in Marriage finds us watching three siblings – Eve (Gretchen Mol), Maggie (Julianna Margulies), and Andy (Burns) – trying to find their way through loveless marriages and new connections.
Some of it is downright maddening, as you find yourself wishing for all the characters to do something – anything – different than follow the paths we see them taking. And it’s not just the siblings; it’s their spouses, ex-spouses, or new flames. Maggie and Nick (Campbell Scott) are two authors in a rut, both professionally and personally. She’s annoyed by his inability to write and his clingy nature; he takes her punches while trying to make excuses for himself. While he mopes around their stately country home, she’s about to finish a book that might also be a thinly veiled confession about her longtime affair with Dennis (Brian d’Arcy James), a local caretaker whom she meets at a gas station.
Eve’s a former rock star (whose band had a Top 20 hit once upon a time) currently married to touring band manager Scott (Patrick Wilson), who’s always on the road and perpetually drunk, breaking multiple promises to get sober. Flashbacks and present-day arguments compound how much of a narcissist he is, turning up to his child’s piano audition while intoxicated and not taking any responsibility for himself or how he’s hemmed Eve into a directionless life. It’s not much of a stretch to see where things might go when music journalist Johnny (Benjamin Bratt) starts flirting with her, having been attracted to her since her ‘90s heyday.
Rounding out the trifecta is artist brother Andy, embroiled in a separation from ex-wife Tina (Morena Baccarin) while seeing one of her former work colleagues, Renee (Minnie Driver). The way we’re introduced to them is via Tina’s drunken invasion of Andy’s apartment – she still has a key – while he and Renee are asleep in the bedroom. Andy’s low-key, “things happen” personality cannot hold a candle to the overstepping, manipulative Tina, whose overtures seem to signal her want for reconciliation, but it’s obvious they’re not any good together. Separated after fifteen years, we start to see why; she’s too much while he’s not enough, which sadly starts trickling into his relationship with Renee.
Where Burns used to focus on younger people trying to forge ahead in life and love, Millers in Marriage finds him looking at the back half of where forging ahead leads. Everyone in this film is trying to make sense of what’s come before and how it will play into the later part of their lives, their own personal second acts before the curtain comes down for good. The congruency of each sibling’s life being interrupted by people they’d met before – Maggie interviewed Dennis for a book, Eve was interviewed by Johnny years ago for articles and reviews, and Andy had known Renee as her wife’s work friend – only solidifies the film’s theme of second chances and second acts. (It also must be said that the notion of all three siblings trying to prosper in artistic endeavors was not lost on me.)
Millers in Marriage is tense in that “Oh, man, what next?!” kind of way, where you watch people fumbling about with those they profess to love (or at least like, in Andy and Renee’s case). Watching Maggie tear into the meek Nick at a dinner party, the latter of whom voices his concerns about her disrespect but doesn’t quite stand up all the way for himself, is a good example of the kind of antagonistic partnerships Burns establishes here. Likewise, Tina’s constant revisitations and intrusion into Andy’s life while he’s trying to move on, having recognized how toxic she is, are clear boundary crossings that Renee must reckon with. And when Eve lays out why she feels like she’s going nowhere to Scott, her words sink in and hit us with how much she’s sacrificed just to wind up feeling how she does.
There’s no victory, no triumph here; there’s only minimizing damage and maintaining one’s own peace, all of which can only go so far before reaching a breaking point. The title itself is a play on words, as it’s not only the siblings’ last name; it’s also the name for people who grind grain into powder or dust, which seems to be what everyone’s doing to their relationships. We’re shown in flashbacks (and, sometimes, flashbacks within flashbacks) the genesis of these slow erosions, some of which jar us into shock or understanding with each revelation. But the same throughline is present throughout, whether in the present or in any of these flashbacks, and that is a complete lack of togetherness. There aren’t any scenes featuring a couple – or, really, anyone – with any reason to smile or share a few laughs. No one’s happy, and we get the feeling we’re watching three couples and three interlopers swirl around a drain before getting dumped unceremoniously into the sewer.
As depressing as Millers in Marriage may be, it’s incredibly well-performed by its nine principal actors. This ensemble creates a full-blown concert of emotion and longing that’s hard to get over or dismiss. It’s always good to see Gretchen Mol in movies, and she makes the most of her opportunity to create a conflicted character trying to keep her good intentions ahead of her while possibly wading into treacherous waters. For me, it’s her journey I was most engaged with, as you can see Mol gearing Eve up for a fight – not just to protect her space from Scott, but also in testing herself to see how far she’s willing to go to see if the grass is truly greener on the other side. She is the thickest-written character of the whole movie, and her thread pays off thoroughly and beautifully.
Even though it feels like Edward Burns is recircling his steps, it’s interesting to see his take on middle age, post-child life as his characters seem to be waiting for the next thing. It’s uncomfortable watching them reach for the solace of others without being able to intervene, but Burns’ solid direction keeps us hanging in there, no matter how much we want to scream “DON’T DO IT” or hide our faces like we were watching a horror movie. Truly, Millers in Marriage unfolds like a horror movie, only with unwarranted advances, infidelity, and battered souls (not the disincorporated kind) instead of a masked killer waiting to strike at any moment. Every situation has moments that may give you the ick – especially with how hard in the paint Johnny’s trying to go for Eve and a certain maneuver Tina makes – but what’s special here is that Burns has the audacity to follow through on every one of them. He maintains a calm hand on the tiller and lets things play to their logical ends without devolving into the saccharine or the overly brutal, which works well in a film specifically designed to provide no joy.
