I Will Never Not Cry During the Palimony Scene in 'The Birdcage'

Though the farce and performances in The Birdcage (now streaming on Netflix) are timeless, much of the film is a relic of the '90s. It’s hard to imagine now that a boy, a politically-interested boy at that, raised by two gay men would be so blasé about marrying the daughter of a conservative senator, or that this couple would even need to create such an elaborate ruse in the first place. But perhaps the main thing that dates the film is Albert’s (Nathan Lane) request for a palimony agreement.

Before same-sex marriage was even a mainstream political talking point, palimony agreements (essentially prenups for longterm but unmarried couples) were the only option non-heterosexual couples had to add some legal protection to their arrangement, should something go wrong. It was marriage in the most unromantic, unspiritual sense of the word. But the scene in which Armand (Robin Williams) gives Albert the palimony papers he’s asked for might be the most moving depiction of marriage put to screen.

In the film, Albert has just run away after a long back and forth with Armand and his son, Val, about whether or not Albert should be present for the dinner with the senator which has been sprung on them. First the idea was that Albert shouldn’t be there at all. Then they thought he could just be Val’s uncle, but quickly realized he was too flamboyant to “pass” as a straight man. So instead of standing up to the senator, they ask Albert to make himself scarce (don’t worry, that dick move gets remedied). Armand quickly realizes this is a bad idea, and finds Albert at the bus station, where he delivers, essentially, his proposal.

At first, Armand waxes on about the cemetery he has a plot in, saying “it’s one of the prettiest in the world,” whereas the one Albert has a plot in is “really shit.” But he says he’s going to sell his nice plot to be next to Albert for eternity, “so I never miss a laugh.” He then produces the palimony papers, which he’s had for a while it seems, and which name Albert as the owner of all their properties. “There’s only one place in the world I call home and it’s because you’re there, so take it,” says Armand. “What difference does it make if I say you can stay or you say I can stay?” And then they sit, holding hands at the pastel-colored bus stop, officially partners.

Marriage is at once an oppressive, patriarchal, legal institution and also a union based in love, friendship, shared values, and commitment. It’s something that takes “work” but should also feel “natural,” something that needs structure and also flexibility, and ultimately something that is not necessary at all. It is... a land of contrasts. But even though we probably shouldn’t even have it as a legal structure, the social act of marriage—of two (or possibly more) people declaring themselves bonded for life, or just as long as they can make it work—is appealing.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to explain why. Any argument for marriage can quickly sound like an argument for Stockholm syndrome. If you say your life just doesn’t make sense anymore without the other person, it’s beautiful and also codependent. If you say they’re your soulmate, you get into questions of how easy and arbitrary falling in love can be. I can tell you the worst day with my partner is still better than the best day alone, and you would be justified in thinking you should call a therapist. Verbalizing the warm, subdued joy of long-term partnership, once the initial novelty of being in love is gone, is near impossible. But Armand gets close.

Part of the beauty of The Birdcage is that, in the hands of Lane and Williams, we understand that this couple that’s essentially in a vaudeville act the entire film are both real people. And here, after all the jokes and screams, Armand voices a near-universal feeling of what love is—that it’s worth it to be annoyed and frustrated sometimes if it means getting to be with Albert. Because Albert feels like home.

I can’t help but think of how this scene would be done today. Firstly, it would end with a marriage proposal, if it even happened. They’d probably use the word “love.” They’d probably kiss. But the speech would be the same, because no matter what the legal arrangement is, dying next to someone who makes us laugh seems like a good way to go.