Thirty years ago, Edward Burns won the coveted Grand Jury Prize at Sundance for his low-budget indie feature The Brothers McMullen, marking the beginning of his long career making thoughtful, dialogue-driven relationship dramas.  Millers in Marriage feels like a natural extension of that legacy.  Premiering at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival, this dramedy about three middle-aged married couples navigating fidelity, ambition, and second chances is effortlessly engaging, filled with sharp dialogue, and grounded by a stellar ensemble cast.  If anything, it made me wish it were a 10-episode series instead of a two-hour film.

The film follows three couples at professional and personal crossroads.  If there’s a nucleus, it’s Eve Miller (Gretchen Mol, False Positive), a former indie singer-songwriter whose creative resurgence shakes up her marriage to Scott (Patrick Wilson, Midway), a struggling music manager battling alcoholism.  Eve’s life takes an unexpected turn when a music journalist, played by Benjamin Bratt (Coco), initially interested in profiling Scott, redirects his attention to her instead.  What starts as a professional curiosity quickly ignites an emotional spark—not just between them, but within Eve herself, reigniting a long-buried passion for her art.

Meanwhile, Eve’s sister, Maggie (Julianna Margulies, The Upside), faces her own marital reckoning.  Ever since she and her husband Nick (Campbell Scott, Jurassic World Dominion), both authors at very different points in their careers, left New York for a quaint little town upstate, Maggie has conveniently kept in touch with Dennis (Brian d’Arcy James, Pain Hustlers), a charming local who once showed her around when they first arrived.  What started as a casual friendship has evolved into something far more charged, their flirtations coming right to the edge of appropriate, kept in secret from Nick.  Their storyline brims with the kind of tension that comes from what they aren’t getting around to saying—the type of affair that hasn’t fully happened but already feels like a betrayal.

Rounding out the trio is artist Andy Miller (Burns, Friends with Kids), whose rekindled romance with fashion executive Renee (Minnie Driver, The Beekeeper) grows complicated by the lingering presence of his ex-wife Tina (Morena Baccarin, Elevation).  Making things even messier? Renee and Tina used to be friends.  The shared history between the two women adds an extra layer of strain, making Andy’s choices feel even more consequential and underscoring the film’s theme of how relationships—romantic or otherwise—leave lasting imprints.

The performances across the board are excellent, but it’s Mol and Driver who truly shine.  Mol, so often relegated to thankless supporting roles, finally gets material that showcases her full range, delivering a modestly devastating performance as a woman rediscovering her passion.  Driver, as always, exudes effortless charisma, simultaneously making Renee’s romantic entanglements feel earned but just as easy to lose. 

Usually cast as the affable nice guy, Patrick Wilson turns in an unexpectedly sharp performance as a man whose insecurities manifest in self-destruction. The chemistry between Scott and Margulies is particularly compelling, capturing the exasperation that builds over decades of shared history.  Bratt brings a smooth, knowing charm to his role, playing a man who recognizes Eve’s artistic potential long before she’s ready to acknowledge it herself, while d’Arcy James subtly plays Dennis as both an affectionate confidant and an emotional temptation.

Burns directs with a steady, unfussy hand, allowing his actors the space to fully inhabit their characters.  There’s a warmth to the film’s aesthetic—scenes unfold in cozy bars, artfully cluttered apartments, and sun-dappled streets—making you feel less like an observer and more like a guest in these characters’ lives.  Burns has a knack for taking familiar tropes—marital strife, creative regret, the temptation of old flames—and making them feel fresh and lived-in.

If this sounds like a lot to juggle, it is—but Burns orchestrates these intersecting storylines with confidence, landing somewhere between the ensemble mastery of Robert Altman and the emotional beats of Love Actually.  If there’s a drawback, it’s that Millers in Marriage occasionally struggles to give each storyline equal weight.  Eve and Scott’s arc feels fully realized, but Maggie and Nick’s conflict sometimes gets lost in the shuffle, and while Renee and Andy’s relationship is engaging enough, a few more scenes would have helped flesh out their dynamic.  But these are minor quibbles in an otherwise richly rewarding film.

The film explores middle age with humor and honesty, delving into the challenge of personal and professional reinvention. Each character wrestles with the question of whether it’s too late to change course, and while Burns offers no easy answers, he suggests that second acts—however difficult—are always worth pursuing. Millers in Marriage sidesteps relationship drama clichés, favoring the wrinkled oddities in daily living over easy villains or tidy resolutions. It understands that the hardest challenges in marriage rarely come from dramatic betrayals, but from the slow, quiet drift of changing dreams and unspoken resentments.

There’s an undeniable comfort in films like this—ones that explore relationships leaving room for complexity rather than relying on contrived conflict.  Millers in Marriage is funny, poignant, and endlessly watchable, a film that rewards patience and doesn’t close the door on continued conversation.  It’s a reminder that the most lasting love stories aren’t always about first romances—they’re about what happens when the honeymoon phase has long since faded, and real life sets in.