Can abortion be funny?

An abortion clinic is not an ideal setting for a second date. But for Donna Stern (Jenny Slate), the winningly potty-mouthed heroine of the film “Obvious Child,” and her love interest, Max (Jake Lacy), who meet while Donna is epically, hilariously drunk, it feels only natural — their sweetly offbeat courtship has been strange from the start.

The movie opens with Donna, a standup comedian of middling success, getting brutally dumped in a bar bathroom. Shortly thereafter she enjoys a drunken one-night stand with Max, and various complications ensue: an unwanted pregnancy, an un-regretted abortion and a fledgling courtship with the unswervingly decent Max. Some of the humor derives from cringe-inducing irony: the doctor recommends scheduling the abortion on Feb. 14. When Donna balks at a Valentine's Day abortion, her doctor suggests the 15th instead. “That's my mom's birthday,” Donna mumbles, and the audience — which, at the screening I attended, was composed almost entirely of hip 30-something Brooklynites — chortled with recognition at the dilemma of the overscheduled New Yorker.

But “Obvious Child” is far from flippant, and most of its comedy is nuanced, resonant and laced with pain. In a restaurant during Donna and Max's only proper date, as Donna steels herself to tell him about the abortion, Max reveals that he “can't wait” to be a grandfather. It's a line that elicited audible pity from the female half of the audience, and, in the moment, causes Donna to lose her nerve. 

I’m sure many will praise “Obvious Child” for its bravery. And for recounting a chapter in a young woman’s life story matter-of-factly and without apology, they’d be right to. When Donna finds out she’s pregnant, she knows immediately that she wants an abortion — “I would like an abortion, please,” she tells her doctor, before the doctor has time to run through the entire menu of options. She wants an abortion, she gets one, and, as far as we can tell, she doesn’t feel anything worse than slightly wistful and a little more grown up afterward. The camera follows Donna into the clinic. We see the procedure. She doesn’t appear to be in physical pain, though she does shed a few tears. This is the most realistic depiction of clean, safe, legal abortion in post-Roe America I’ve ever seen in a narrative film. There’s no back alley, and no subsequent blood, horror or agony. This is abortion not as trauma or tragedy but as a simple, legal medical procedure that millions of women have every day. Like most common, low-risk medical procedures, it’s portrayed as mildly stressful, not damaging or devastating.

That's what makes it brave. And it’s also what will undoubtedly make some people angry. Donna will be denounced as irresponsible and selfish (in fact, she already has been; the movie was a short before it was a feature-length film). Even pro-choice folks will complain that the movie takes abortion too lightly; after all, some women do regret their abortions. But I suspect that what really bothers the kind of person who won't like this movie is the sight of a young woman drinking to excess, indulging in casual sex and escaping serious consequences. Most brazenly of all, “Obvious Child” has the nerve to turn a Very Serious Subject into an occasion for cracking wise, and it's a testament to Slate’s and Lacy’s acting that this feels tender and true rather than arch or contrived.

Still, as brave as “Obvious Child” is, I wouldn’t describe its heroine, for all her admirable pluck and onstage audacity, as courageous, exactly. She doesn’t have to face down any nasty anti-choice protesters, let alone contend with disapproving parents. Apart from some minor financial anxiety — she’s unemployed and the abortion costs $500 — her path to a trauma-free abortion is smooth. For Donna, abortion is a rueful rite of passage; a kind of bat mitzvah that transforms the baby-voiced party girl into a (slightly) more sober young woman. Halfway through the movie, her mother reveals that she had an abortion as a young woman, too.

Despite the fact that pro-choice groups are helping to publicize it, “Obvious Child” isn’t really an “issue” movie. It doesn’t purport to speak for all women or represent all abortion experiences. It’s a cheeky, subversive romantic comedy: Boy meets girl; boy and girl sleep together; girl gets abortion; boy and girl begin dating. Much like its lead actors, it’s funny and sweet and endearing. The fact that it’s socially useful in destigmatizing abortion and normalizing women's lives feels almost incidental.

Seven years ago, two other terrific comedies, Judd Apatow’s “Knocked Up” and Jason Reitman's “Juno,” were criticized by some commentators who wondered why the films’ pregnant protagonists — a single, professionally successful 20-something in Apatow’s film and an overwhelmed teenager in Reitman’s — were so quick to dismiss abortion as an option. Many defended the characters’ choices on dramatic grounds, claiming that if they hadn’t chosen to continue their pregnancies, there wouldn’t have been a movie. With “Obvious Child,” director Gillian Robespierre demonstrates that you can, in fact, sustain enough drama and narrative tension to make a compelling comedy about abortion. It’s no surprise that “Obvious Child,” unlike “Knocked Up” and “Juno,” is the product of an all-female team: its writers, director and star are women. Many men, especially fathers, know something about pregnancy; few know how women experience abortion.

In addition to dealing with unintended pregnancy, “Knocked Up,” “Juno” and “Obvious Child” all feature adorable young white women as protagonists. In the United States, about 25 percent of abortions are obtained by women who are 30 or older, 30 percent are obtained by black women and 61 percent are obtained by women who are already mothers. Where are the on-screen depictions of these women’s abortion stories?

Movies about women are rare, and movies about “older” (30+) and/or minority women are rarer still. The tale of a desperate mother with too many mouths to feed is not the stuff of a fun, bubbly rom-com. Women other than pretty young things with lives easy to set to catchy indie playlists deserve to have their stories told, too. But their stories are less fun, and consequently less marketable. I would rather see “Obvious Child” a million times over than sit through a second screening of “Vera Drake,” Mike Leigh’s 2004 movie about a woman who performs abortions for the desperate in 1950 London. “Vera Drake” was well made, well acted and socially relevant, but it was not the least bit fun to watch. In addition to Paul Simon, the “Obvious Child” soundtrack features pop and indie rock to which its heroine dances adorably. I would never buy the soundtrack to “Vera Drake.” 

Donna Stern is a lucky girl: She’s talented, good-hearted and pretty, with loving, loyal friends and parents who adore her. Sure, she’s got problems: a mean boyfriend she soon sheds, the loss of a job that wasn’t so great to begin with and an unwanted pregnancy. But we know from the beginning she’ll be all right in the end.

So: can abortion be funny? “Obvious Child” proves that it can be. The real tragedy of abortion isn’t that women have them; it’s that we’re expected to be miserable about it. And some of us are — but it doesn't have to be that way. For most women, an abortion is only as traumatic as the circumstances surrounding it: It’s exponentially worse when undergone illegally, unsafely or by someone who’s suffering from more than an unplanned pregnancy (like rape, incest, abuse, poverty or religious condemnation).

In the United States, roughly half of pregnancies are unintended. Whether they continue those pregnancies or terminate them, women need and deserve more compassion, and stronger social support. For Donna, the clinic is a place of hope and refuge; her abortion brings more relief than pain; and she is supported rather than abandoned by her family, friends and lover. Every woman should be so lucky.