There’s a moment in the HBO show Girls wherein Hannah’s best friend-cum-ex-roommate, Marnie, attempts to reconnect with her after both girls have gone through particularly drastic changes. Hannah is actually at home but hides from Marnie, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of embarrassment; Marnie snoops around Hannah’s room and comes across Hannah’s open laptop with the first line of a book in progress: “A friendship between college girls is grander and more dramatic than any romance…”
Frances Ha echoes this same sentiment of young adults discovering themselves, of girls evolving into women. But perhaps more poignantly than other coming of age stories, Frances Ha squarely revolves around Frances. It’s a romance that doesn’t linger on the belief that true love exists only between boy and girl, or even girl and girl for that matter; it’s a romance of Frances falling in love with Frances.
France’s best friend and roommate is Sophie. They play-fight and cook together and read to one another. At one point as they fall asleep in bed together, Frances, childlike, asks Sophie to “tell me the story of us.” Sophie paints a future in which Frances will be a famous modern dancer and Sophie will be a hotshot publishing mogul. They will remain best friends and co-own a vacation home in Paris and life will be happy and amazing. But soon enough, Sophie decides to move in with her boyfriend and eventual fiancé, leaving Frances out in the cold. It is this sudden change that Frances spends the movie desperately trying to reconcile.
At first, Frances turns to external factors in her pursuit of finding stability, befriending two guys, Lev and Benji, who quickly deem her to be “undateable.” She yearns for other people to tell her who she is, who she should be. When her credit card is declined at dinner, Frances quickly admits, “I’m so embarrassed. I’m not a real person yet.” Frances is fully aware that she is quite lost without Sophie in her world; and she isn’t quite sure where to turn for comfort.
Later in the film, Frances returns home to Sacramento, CA, to visit her family. It’s a regression of sorts as her parents (and poodle) pick her up from the airport. We get the clear sense that she is once again a young girl in the eyes of her parents, treading water before returning to what she actually wants to do in New York. But we also gain an understanding of who this girl is -- decorating the Christmas tree, walking the dog with her dad, going to church, playing with nieces and nephews. Life is being lived and Frances is along for the ride. For the first time in a while, we see Frances happy.
The brief montage of the Sacramento visit is nicely contrasted to Frances’ impromptu visit to Paris later on. The film, evoking the thematic and aesthetic qualities of French New Wave movies, seems poised to romanticize Paris. Frances in France! This is where she will find all the joys of the life she wants! Dancers and food and wine and culture! Suffice it to say that, played against Hot Chocolate’s “Everyone’s a Winner,” Frances’ Parisian weekend montage is anything but exciting. She is alone, jet-lagged, bored, and lost, even half-way around the world.
The beauty of Frances Ha lies in its ability to mercilessly cut to the character of Frances. Director Noah Baumbach and writer/star Greta Gerwig do not refrain from giving Frances all the shades of a real human being, including all her strengths and weaknesses. She has hopes to be a real dancer; but she just as quickly admits she’s not actually in the dance company. She would like to find a stable relationship; but she so easily resorts to labeling herself undateable. She is in love with Sophie and their life together as twenty-something best friends in New York; but she also gradually understands that that won’t last forever.
The film ends with Frances moving onto a new stage in her life. Her life isn’t exactly how she and Sophie had once envisioned it. But as Frances settles into her new home, we gain a calm feeling of confidence, an indelible sense that this feels right. Frances Hallaway writes out her full name on her mailbox but only displays two-thirds of it. She’s almost become a full person but not quite yet; she’s learned a lot but still growing. There’s an exciting sense of triumph in that incompleteness.
Frances Ha echoes this same sentiment of young adults discovering themselves, of girls evolving into women. But perhaps more poignantly than other coming of age stories, Frances Ha squarely revolves around Frances. It’s a romance that doesn’t linger on the belief that true love exists only between boy and girl, or even girl and girl for that matter; it’s a romance of Frances falling in love with Frances.
France’s best friend and roommate is Sophie. They play-fight and cook together and read to one another. At one point as they fall asleep in bed together, Frances, childlike, asks Sophie to “tell me the story of us.” Sophie paints a future in which Frances will be a famous modern dancer and Sophie will be a hotshot publishing mogul. They will remain best friends and co-own a vacation home in Paris and life will be happy and amazing. But soon enough, Sophie decides to move in with her boyfriend and eventual fiancé, leaving Frances out in the cold. It is this sudden change that Frances spends the movie desperately trying to reconcile.
At first, Frances turns to external factors in her pursuit of finding stability, befriending two guys, Lev and Benji, who quickly deem her to be “undateable.” She yearns for other people to tell her who she is, who she should be. When her credit card is declined at dinner, Frances quickly admits, “I’m so embarrassed. I’m not a real person yet.” Frances is fully aware that she is quite lost without Sophie in her world; and she isn’t quite sure where to turn for comfort.
Later in the film, Frances returns home to Sacramento, CA, to visit her family. It’s a regression of sorts as her parents (and poodle) pick her up from the airport. We get the clear sense that she is once again a young girl in the eyes of her parents, treading water before returning to what she actually wants to do in New York. But we also gain an understanding of who this girl is -- decorating the Christmas tree, walking the dog with her dad, going to church, playing with nieces and nephews. Life is being lived and Frances is along for the ride. For the first time in a while, we see Frances happy.
The brief montage of the Sacramento visit is nicely contrasted to Frances’ impromptu visit to Paris later on. The film, evoking the thematic and aesthetic qualities of French New Wave movies, seems poised to romanticize Paris. Frances in France! This is where she will find all the joys of the life she wants! Dancers and food and wine and culture! Suffice it to say that, played against Hot Chocolate’s “Everyone’s a Winner,” Frances’ Parisian weekend montage is anything but exciting. She is alone, jet-lagged, bored, and lost, even half-way around the world.
The beauty of Frances Ha lies in its ability to mercilessly cut to the character of Frances. Director Noah Baumbach and writer/star Greta Gerwig do not refrain from giving Frances all the shades of a real human being, including all her strengths and weaknesses. She has hopes to be a real dancer; but she just as quickly admits she’s not actually in the dance company. She would like to find a stable relationship; but she so easily resorts to labeling herself undateable. She is in love with Sophie and their life together as twenty-something best friends in New York; but she also gradually understands that that won’t last forever.
The film ends with Frances moving onto a new stage in her life. Her life isn’t exactly how she and Sophie had once envisioned it. But as Frances settles into her new home, we gain a calm feeling of confidence, an indelible sense that this feels right. Frances Hallaway writes out her full name on her mailbox but only displays two-thirds of it. She’s almost become a full person but not quite yet; she’s learned a lot but still growing. There’s an exciting sense of triumph in that incompleteness.
