Cinema without borders: Mistress America — The persistence of alienation
Noah Baumbach’s 2015 film Mistress America, is bookended by two lovely lines. It begins with Tracy Fishko (Lola Kirke)—a pivotal character, narrator, and interpreter of the story—describing Brooke Cardinas (Greta Gerwig): “She would say things like—isn’t every story a story of betrayal?” Things come full circle with her parting shot and that of the film, eulogising Brooke: “Being a beacon of hope to lesser people is a lonely business.” In between spans a wacky tale about these two ordinary, whimsical women, who are soon-to-be stepsisters, the equally quirky, average folks around them and their many capricious businesses of life. What’s more, as Brooke is prone to postulate, the story they share also has to do with treachery and deception.
Google “Greta Gerwig” and you are likely to find your screens turning the right shade of bright pink with the hype and hoopla around the much-anticipated release of her big-ticket directorial venture Barbie, this Friday. She has co-written it with the filmmaker, and her partner, Baumbach. Perfect time then to visit one of their earlier screenwriting collaborations.
However, unlike the deliberately extravagant Barbie, Mistress America feels resolutely muted and indie-spirited and fittingly opened at the Sundance Film Festival. Not much transpires in it by way of action but a lot happens through interminable, winding conversations, one leading to the next. The entire film is structured around the chatter of its dramatis personae.
Tracy is unable to adjust well in Barnard College and feels lonely amid snobbish fellow students at Columbia University. On her mother’s advice, she reaches out to Brooke hoping that the one with a life in New York will help her feel at home in the city. Tracy is 18, and Brooke is 30, both are in search of their true selves and have a future in common—their parents are about to get married to each other. Brooke isn’t just fun; she also inspires Tracy, the author in search of a compelling character, to write a story for the college literary magazine. But without Brooke being privy to the fact that her protagonist draws a lot from her.
Meanwhile, when Brooke’s boyfriend withdraws financial support for her dream restaurant project, she along with Tracy, her collegemate Tony and his jealous, suspicious girlfriend Nicolette, travel to Connecticut to meet Mamie Claire, who had, in the past, stolen a T-Shirt business idea of Brooke’s and her cat and fiancée as well. They crash her Faulkner reading party for pregnant women and later pitch to attract investment from her and her husband Dylan, but not quite successfully. Things come to a head when Tracy’s secret story gets spotlighted much to Brooke’s offence. It’s back to square one with Tracy just as ill at ease in her world and Brooke trying another new move in life to find herself. The persistence of alienation continues.
Gerwig and Baumbach fashion an interesting bunch of edgy characters that are in a state of constant formation, with a defined core to them. There are no arrivals in their journeys. Since these are inner quests of life rather than outward strolls, it’s words that help spell out the individual drifts. A trifle self-aware and indulgent at times, especially in articulating the engagement with and selling away of oneself on social media— “must we document ourselves all the time”—the film is sparkling with wit in most instances, especially in underlining the kookiness of individuals.
The camera feels like the proverbial fly on the wall, the filming is improvised, and the situations and performances have a natural and impromptu touch. You come out feeling a lot for Gerwig as Brooke, the so-called “last cowboy who is all romance and failure”. Now whether Margot Robbie does the same for the audience in Barbie as the imperfect doll on a journey to self-discovery in the human world.
Cinema Without Borders
In this weekly column, the writer explores the non-Indian films that are making the right
noises across the globe. This week, we talk about Noah Baumbach’s Mistress America