Despite its cuteness and whimsical soundtrack, Frances Ha is a melancholic film, whose female protagonist, Francis (Greta Gerwig), is an ambiguous interjection. As a dancer, she is perpetually an understudy, whose development is arrested, and – by her own admission – is “not a real person yet.” A New York City resident, France aspires to be a dancer, though “aspire” might be a word that only she would use. Watching her, we are unsure what she aspires to be.
As an apprentice member of a dance company, she works sporadically and is placed in the back. When she’s on stage with the lead, she is kept motionless in the wings as if she is a column holding down the proscenium, and this clearly defines the contradictions of her character. When she wants to move, she is unable, and when she needs to settle down, she finds it impossible to stay still. As a dancer, she is constricted by her apparent lack of grace (she’s quite often stumbling). At the same time, she wants to travel, so she impetuously goes to Paris, but spends most of the day sleeping, and the rest of the day smoking.
Most integral to her own well-being, she is unable to find a permanent place to live – or even semi-permanent. In truth, the storage locker she rents provides her accumulating objects with more permanence than she affords herself. She turns down the opportunity to move in with her boyfriend because she believes her current roommate Sophie is looking to re-sign a lease and Frances doesn’t want to disappoint her. When Sophie informs Frances she won’t be re-signing a lease and will instead be leaving early to move to Tribeca, Frances is forced to leave the apartment and ends up overpaying for a spot on the couch in the apartment of a trust fund kid, Lev (Adam Shriver) and his consistently in-debt roommate, Benji (Michael Zegan), who prevents seeing himself as poor by buying everything he can on credit he can’t afford.
Frances then finds herself as a five-week roommate to Rachel, a fellow dancer – though she’s full time – in the company. The next time we see Frances, she’s returned to her former university as an RA and a waitress, living in a dorm that she hadn’t lived in before. This ultimate regression is both a sign of desperation and depression, placing her in a circuit of delusion and doublespeak, where Frances’ positive lilt on “I have a meeting with Colleen,” the dance company’s choreographer is heavily overshadowed by our knowledge and Frances’ that Colleen is not looking to offer her a permanent role. Rather, she’s looking to cut Frances loose and, as it turns out, offer her an office job.
Here, we’re forced to wonder when Frances is completely oblivious or super persistent. Is she simply incredibly socially awkward, or does she truly not pick up on obvious signs?
Ironically, while Frances is appears rather oblivious and naïve, Noah Baumbach’s film might be the most self-aware of the year. It is meticulously shot in black and white, and each conversation attempts to be a snippet of philosophy about life, love, transience, and temporality. At the same time, one has to wonder whether the frequent attempts at existential discourse fit the theme embedded in the denouement of the film: sometimes, we need to do things that we don’t want to do because that’s how life works.
Stop reading here if you’re looking to avoid a spoiler, but Frances ultimately accepts that Sophie’s life is moving forward and that they are no longer “the same person with different hair.” Instead, Frances is forced to construct an identity of her own and become a “real person.” There’s an ultimate sadness in the final scene that reveals Frances’ last name, “Halladay,” which she writes on a piece of card stock to place in the name slot in the mailbox of her new apartment. But, as those living in New York City know, there’s not much room to write a first and last name in this slot, so she’s forced to write “Frances Ha.” Simultaneously, she is trying to grow up, but she can’t. Similarly, in her new apartment, she’s become a contraction of herself and while her development is slightly paroled, it is still arrested.