For Better or Worse

	   „You and I are gonna meet here 

	   without knowing anything that goes

	   on outside here. (…) Because... Because we don't need

	   names here. Don't you see? We're

	   gonna forget... everything that we

	   knew.*”

Act I: Marriage

Human nature is complicated; whatever is on the surface isn’t always the truth. Nothing is forever, nothing is set in stone. People make decisions, change their minds, and try to be rational, yet they’re driven by emotions. A single message may go unseen or misunderstood, filtered through personal lenses. Getting through to someone is an art form, one that takes a lifetime to master. It’s strange how often we mean to say “yes” but it comes out as “no.” Pride, fear, and vulnerability cloud our intentions, and admitting “I’m a fool” feels unbearable. Life would be simpler if people spoke plainly—but infinitely less interesting without the flawed complexity.

Scenes from a Marriage. The show opens with a dinner where Mira and Jonathan host their friends, who are in an open relationship. This sets the stage: a comparison of their supposedly secure monogamy against what they perceive as the chaos of modern alternatives. Yet this opening conversation, brimming with judgment and certainty, lays the groundwork for everything to unravel.

Act II: Chaos

Long story short: Jessica Chastain’s Mira is a successful working mother and provider. Jonathan, played by Oscar Isaac, is a stay-at-home dad and university researcher. Their relationship appears strong, harmonious, and stable, especially compared to their friends in an open relationship. Then comes an unexpected pregnancy. Mira chooses to have an abortion, and six months later, she confesses she’s leaving the marriage for another man.

This fracture reveals layers of insecurities, desires, and questions about their identities. Power shifts with each episode, and the divorce becomes endless. The story unfolds almost entirely within their home, a microcosm of their world. As their relationship morphs, so does the house—its steady walls mirroring their veneer of control, hiding overthinking, assumptions, and raw intentions. This isn’t a story about falling for someone new; it’s a meditation on the complexities of commitment and identity. Mira and Jonathan’s relationship, like their home, shifts and fractures under the weight of their choices and self-discovery.

Each argument, each reconciliation, is another step in a tragic, almost Shakespearean dance. It is a dance of contradictions: the need for freedom clashing with the pull of history, the desire to move forward tangled with the weight of shared intimacy.

Mira’s unhappiness is evident from the beginning. She’s outwardly strong and decisive but internally restless and neurotic. Postpartum depression from her first pregnancy, the pressure of being the provider, and her unfulfilled quest for happiness strain her relationship with Jonathan. She detaches, seeking a fresh start with a younger, successful colleague. At first, she thrives, her newfound romance breathing life into her. She feels desired and confident again. But as time passes, the thrill fades. Mira grows lonelier, unable to love her new partner, Poli, as she loved Jonathan. Her regret sets in, and Jonathan’s increasing emotional distance fuels her anxiety. The home where they meet to discuss divorce and co-parenting becomes a battlefield.

Jonathan initially seems content and steady, his life revolving around Mira’s lead. An ex-Orthodox Jew, he married Mira shortly after college with little prior romantic experience. His world is upended when Mira leaves. Devastated, he pleads for her to stay, struggling to rebuild his life. Over time, he finds his footing, focusing on his needs and rediscovering unseen parts of himself. He remarries, has a second child, and advances his career, regaining confidence. Selling their home marks the final break with their shared past.

Act III: Deconstruction (Everybody is a Fool)

Yet Mira and Jonathan never stop loving each other. Their marriage ends, but their bond strengthens. They survive their worst fears, grow individually, and continue making new mistakes. Both cheat on their current partners with each other, accepting the undefined messiness of their relationship and allowing it to flow naturally.

This isn’t a pretty story. It’s messy. Cheating is awful. Mira comes off as a self-centered “bitch,” while Jonathan transitions from a pushover to a prick. But it’s all profoundly human. Without their turbulence and entanglements with others, would they have reached their revelations?

The series begins with a dinner where Mira and Jonathan discuss their friends’ open relationship, dismissing it as immature. By the end, their roles have reversed, and their beliefs about what makes a relationship stable crumble. Mira and Jonathan become a reflection of what they once criticized, yet there’s an undeniable liberation in their acceptance of imperfection. The deconstruction of their marriage, ironically, becomes the foundation of a connection that feels more honest and free than ever before.

Esther Perel’s work teaches us that monogamy and marriage might need reimagining. No partner can meet every need. Sometimes, instead of seeking an affair, finding a new hobby might be the answer. Building a healthy relationship requires two individuals attuned to themselves and each other. Mira and Jonathan eventually reach this understanding, meeting in the final episode steady and at peace. Was their path the only way? No. But their chaos and flaws make the story so human, so painfully familiar.

There’s sadness beneath their composed exteriors, a silent seduction born of their desperate need for each other. Their fights, their tenderness—they disarm each other with a single touch. Released around the same time, Normal People carries a similar resonance: two people too afraid or proud to admit their love, dragging out their longing and misery. Both stories hinge on intimacy breaking barriers. With every rewatch, new layers emerge.

Scenes from a Marriage echoes Last Tango in Paris. The house mirrors the Parisian apartment—a secluded space for raw vulnerability. These lovers, stripped of pretense, share mundane rituals: shaving, applying makeup, simply existing. The performances in Last Tango in Paris likely inspired Scenes. I’d bet on it.

The show’s minimalist approach—sparse music, modest shots—centers the dialogue and emotion. Mira and Jonathan’s home transforms into both sanctuary and battleground, amplifying their connection. The silences speak louder than words.

This is a story of two flawed individuals who love each other despite everything. Their connection lives in glances, touches, and the weight of shared history. Scenes from a Marriage doesn’t moralize; it shows two people caught in a dance of fear and desire, where no one truly wins.

And yet, love endures.

PAUL

	  You and I are gonna meet here

	  without knowing anything that goes

	  on outside here.

He indicates OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.

PAUL (CONT'D)

	  OK?

JEANNE

	  But why?

PAUL

	  Because... Because we don't need

	  names here. Don't you see? We're

	  gonna forget... everything that we

	  knew. Every... All the people,...

	  all that we do,... wherever we

	  live. We're going to forget that,

	  everything, everything.

JEANNE

	  But I can't. Can you?

PAUL

	  I don't know. Are you scared?

JEANNE

	  No.

	  She walks to the bed, inviting him with her eyes.*

*The quotes included in this essay are from Last Tango in Paris.