Noah Baumbach
Frances Ha

[Contains spoilers]

Semi-quoting the good Faber, that of Frances is a «», a void of the soul expressed in a labyrinthine tangle of limping dialogues, elusive relationships, disposable ties; incompleteness is seen as a peculiar trait of the protagonist but also as the ultimate mark of her generation, of course in varying degrees. In one of the final sequences of the film, Frances and her best friend Sophie, clouded by alcohol, chat in bed before sleeping and indulge in wild dreams; however, the next morning, Sophie, back to her senses, leaves her a note and goes away without saying goodbye, once more driven by a life dedicated to duties. But Frances truly believed in those unattainable dreams.

Frances's life is a dream in fieri, one that never fully materializes because her very personality is always incomplete. A revealing sequence is the final one, in which a Frances at least partially fulfilled lives in her own apartment and has to prepare a paper tag with her name for the mailbox: her surname Halladay doesn't fit completely and is cut short to Ha. Sure, the theme of immaturity is present, but it's not to be trivialized or reduced ad unum: even the more mature Frances of the final part is a wonderful contradiction in terms, a masterpiece of incompleteness: her true character development doesn't come from eliminating her weaknesses but by accepting them, or rather by understanding them and making them a creed, a life choice: the phrase she says to Benji is a symbol of this, «I like things that seem like mistakes».

This praise of imperfection, of continuous change and transformation without anything really changing is expressed with a lightness that seems impossible for those who haven't seen the film. Thus, Baumbach's work deserves further praise because in 86 very light minutes, it builds a beautiful portrait, totally anti-rhetorical, profoundly postmodern in its emptying of all crystallized and now outdated forms of the Bildungsroman. Frances's path is not truly a progressive one but rather chaotic wandering in the labyrinth of her own personality.

Three elements then warrant highlighting:

1 - The use of the camera cleverly draws from the best of Woody Allen, with static shots and characters entering and exiting the visual field, dialogues that avoid the shot-reverse shot in favor of copresence, a subtle but decisive work in constructing the shot, with few but well-played scenic elements and never banal prossemics among characters: fabulous the sequence in which Frances performs gym exercises including a handstand while discussing with Sophie.

2 - The construction of dialogues that seem spontaneous and silly yet maximally calibrated and significant of a constant state of uncertainty, a limbo of immaturity gripping a generation, always entangled in intricate and utilitarian sentimental relationships (sex is had mutually). Frances's random lines are empty but symbolize a void that is an existential condition, quintessential of her person.

The characters' words also serve to trace the entanglement of relationships and contradictions that the images and staging refuse to represent; everything plays on dialogue sequences almost always indoors, where the absurd plots of the various characters' lives are explored (Lev and Benji take center stage here). Life therefore appears wrapped in a verbal cocoon that's amusing because often senseless and paradoxical, but also truly suffocating; the choice not to show life outside of the dialogues renders these even more incisive and capable of deforming everything. It's not so much about the facts but the version people give of them to others. Frances reinvents herself continuously in the second half of the film.

3 - The performance of the protagonist Greta Gerwig is stunning because it enjoys the writing of the actress herself, who finds the right lines to exemplify the nonsense and impotence of a liminal existence; however, the physical component of her performance is no less, significantly contributing to shaping a well-rounded portrait. The lack of logic in her speech intertwines with elusive facial expressions, precarious balance between buffoonery and drama, and the insistent gesturing of extroverted bursts contrasts with the stillness of reflective moments (or so they seem), when Frances is accustomed to smoking.

A memorable portrait that balances the individual dimension (never reducible to a schema) with a sense of impotence instead generational, or at least the awareness of one's social subalternity and along with the indifference toward it. The young are tormented by the lack of money, yet nonetheless spend what little they have irresponsibly: Benji struggles to break through but thinks of buying rare glasses online, Frances can't pay rent but goes to Paris (for what purpose then?). Emblematic in this sense is the line the protagonist addresses to Lev: «I got a tax refund, shall we go out to dinner?». If the economic dimension is paradoxical, the sentimental one is completely unresolved, fractured into too many deliberately complex subplots to be even minimally understood. The only certainty remains the loving gaze of Frances towards her, with adolescent definition, «best friend» Sophie. «We're like a lesbian couple who don't have sex anymore». Chapeau!