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What happens when old, ecclesiastical notions of “morality” are held up and imposed in a world where they can cause great damage to the happiness and wellbeing of families and individuals? How do we define our domestic spaces, and how can we learn to adapt to someone else’s? What can a teenage boy learn from the old dude crashing on his bottom bunk? And which is more frightening: living in separation from the one you love, living surrounded by loved ones, or (shudder) moving to Poughkeepsie? By the merit of its ensemble performances and radiant overall composition, the story of husbands Ben (John Lithgow) and George (Alfred Molina), and the force field of good intentioned friends and family that surround them, is a romance quite literally for the ages; it is multigenerational by design. After nearly 40 years together, Ben and George are finally able to marry. Upon the wake of their happy nuptials, George loses his position as a music teacher. Financial woes force the couple to sell their home and rely on the generosity of their friends and families while they are left homeless.

Ira Sachs’ achingly gentle drama Love Is Strange is a film comprised of small moments — the quotidian stuff of household routine and real estate struggles — that prompts some very large questions. On a date to the symphony, Ben asks for George’s opinion on a violinist’s performance. George thought she milked it, saying, “When the piece is that romantic, there’s no need to embellish”. From the simple piano score to the restrained performances to the small human scale of the story, that is the key to Love Is Strange.

 Read our interview with Love Is Strange director Ira Sachs here.