(Credits: Netflix)

Nobody really talks about what happens before the baby. Not the diaper bags or nursery colours, but the real stuff. The injections. The forms. The financial anxiety. The heartbreak that arrives in quiet little waves every time a test result says “no” again. Everyone celebrates the outcome, but barely anyone sits with the years of trying. Of not knowing. Of watching people around you move ahead while you are still stuck in this waiting room of hope and disappointment. Luckily, Netflix has one such underrated gem which talks about it all.

That is why Private Life hits different. It does not dramatise anything. It does not chase some big emotional payoff. It just shows you what it actually feels like to want something so deeply and still keep falling short. And how that changes a person. A couple. A life.

The film follows Rachel and Richard. A couple in their 40s who are knee-deep in IVF cycles, adoption interviews, disappointment fatigue, and a marriage that is hanging in there, but barely. They love each other. You can see that. But you can also see the cracks. The tension. The exhaustion of trying to stay hopeful when the world keeps handing you closed doors. What makes this movie so powerful is that it never begs you to cry. It just quietly shows you the emotional chaos of fertility and lets it sit.

Kathryn Hahn and Paul Giamatti are magic. Not in a “wow, awards!” way, but in that very ordinary, very human way. They feel like people you know. The kind who try to keep it together in public but fall apart in grocery store parking lots or during silent dinners. There is so much love in their scenes, but it is the kind of love that is tired. Love that has been through years of scans, surgeries, and scheduling sex. It is all so raw, so familiar.

The film is written and directed by Tamara Jenkins, and you can feel her presence in every frame. This is a woman’s story, not just because Rachel’s at the centre, but because the film sees everything women are made to endure. The weird comments. The medical invasiveness. The pressure to keep smiling while your body becomes a lab. And still, even with all that, there are flashes of humour. There is this one moment with a teenage niece that is just so wonderfully awkward and ridiculous, you almost forget how much your chest hurts.

What I love most about Private Life is that it is not trying to solve anything. It does not give you a miracle baby or some big speech about fate. It just says, “Hey, this is what it’s like.” And sometimes, that is all you need. You do not need closure. You just need someone to say, “I get it.”

So yeah. If you are scrolling endlessly, looking for something to watch on Netflix that is real and a little messy and quietly devastating, put this on. Private Life is the only reproductive rollercoaster you need to watch on Netflix. It is about love and grief and what it means to hold on when you are not even sure what you are holding onto anymore.

And if it wrecks you a little? Good. That means it worked.