Frances Ha (2012)

If you know me, you know that my favorite director is Greta Gerwig. While I was studying film at The University of Iowa, her film, Lady Bird (2017), gripped me in a way that no film ever had before. Her writing and directing style blew my naive mind out of the stuffy, indie, black box theater I first saw it in. Her rendition of Little Women (2019) was the next tick in the direction of my extreme admiration and borderline obsessive fascination with Gerwig and her work. I think I’ve listened to just about every interview and podcast episode she’s ever done. I’ve poured over her scripts and marveled at her process since my introduction to her in 2017. My journey as a film student and a filmmaker has been heavily, heavily influenced by her and her contribution to the film industry. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the doors she’s opened for women and girls, like myself, who are looking to write and direct their own films. Having said all of that, one may find it shocking, perhaps even disturbing, that I only recently watched Frances Ha (2012) for the first time.

Within my own films, I’m obsessed with montages. I think they are so effective when it comes to delivering a large amount of information in a short amount of time. Greta’s montages are unlike the majority of montages that exist in film. Especially in Frances Ha, they are very slice of life. Her and director, Noah Baumbach crafted little slivers of very ordinary moments to build a robust life for this character and the people around her. It’s the type of film that I love to watch because it’s the type of film I want to make. The first montage of the film acts almost as the exposition. It was incredibly effective in developing intrigue for me, regarding the relationship between the characters Frances and Sophie. The rapid cuts, showcasing their moments living in their shared apartment together, had me wondering whether they were sisters, best friends, or lovers [I find it hilarious that, later in the film, they call attention to this by referring to the women as a ‘lesbian couple who doesn't have sex anymore’].

There truly is no greater love than that which exists between two women. Whether it be romantic or platonic, whether it be between two best friends or two strangers supporting one another, there is something special about the way in which women care for another and coexist. This theme spans across all of Greta’s films. She does such a good job of authentically capturing these types of relationships and the emotions within them. The mastery exists in her early work here and has carried over into her larger scale productions such as Barbie (2023), a film that is, arguably, all about women and their relationships with one another. In Act One of Frances Ha, we see Sophie and Frances following each other around from room to room of their home and sleeping in bed together. The two of them have developed a routine of togetherness that borderlines codependency. From what we see, it only makes sense that Frances turns down her boyfriend when he asks her to move in with him. It is established as an impenetrable fact, that the two of them are inseparable. How dare this man even suggest such a thing?! When Frances and Sophie reunite after a brief parting, the music swells and they embrace, returning to normal as the best of friends.

The film does such a great job of rooting the audience within the mind and perspective of Frances and, as I mentioned before, I went into the viewing of this film completely blind. So, one can only imagine my devastation when Sophie dropped the bombshell that she had decided to move out of her home with Frances. This was the first of many emotional reactions I had throughout my watching of this film. I burst into uncontrollable laughter when she tripped and fell while running down the street, my heart grew two sizes watching Frances find her people in Benji (Michael Segan) and Lev (Adam Driver), and a kind of achey nostalgia settled into my stomach while I watched the montage of Frances’ Christmas spent in Sacramento.

All in all, this is a text book film made for Katie Healy. I could obsess for hours, wondering about how Noah and Greta wrote these scenes and how they appear on the page. Since watching, I’ve marveled at decisions like the choice to use the real Gerwig family to film the holiday montage and the choice to separate the film into chapters headed by the address she’s currently residing. If I could ask Gerwig and Baumbach anything it would be how they managed to create these, seemingly, normal and unscripted scenes and craft them in a way that tells a complete and profound story?

I resonate so much with what Frances goes through, in terms of being with people who get her and people who don’t. The older I get, the more viscerally I feel the difference between being with people and being with my people. There’s that incredibly uncomfortable scene towards the later half of the film when Frances has dinner with her roommate’s family. These people she’s having dinner with don’t understand her and all her quirks. They don’t respect what she does for a living or the way that she carries herself. There’s little to nothing for them to talk about. It’s a distressing moment of the film and difficult to get through. However, within this scene we get the beautiful monologue where Frances describes to the hostess of the dinner what it is that she wants. Throughout the entire film, Frances is catering to the emotions and desires of others. It is not until this moment of the film where she admits to herself and the strangers around her what it is that she wants and this is where the film takes a turn towards the resolution. Sometimes, we must endure a certain level of discomfort in order to figure out what it is that we actually want. We have to experience what it is that we don’t want in order to figure out how to move towards what it is that we do want.

“It’s that thing when you’re with someone… and you love them and they know it… and they love you and you know it… but it’s a party… and you’re both talking to other people… and you’re laughing and shining… and you look across the room… and catch each other’s eyes… but - but not because you’re possessive… or it’s precisely sexual… but because… that is your person in this life.” The love that Frances wants is so eloquently defined in this monologue. There are many beautiful components about this monologue and how it ties into the rest of the film and the film’s very satisfying conclusion. It’s beautiful that Frances and Sophie share this look with one another at the end of the film. It’s beautiful that, in a way, Frances had the love that she wanted all along. It was she herself who needed to change. She needed to go through the rotten roommate breakup with Sophie and living with the boys and all the other discomforts she endured in order to rid herself of that “possessive” aspect she mentions in the monologue. It was herself that she needed to fall in love with and come to be able to rely on and live for. In fact, it isn’t until Frances delivers the monologue, before the break into Act Three, that she’s able to express what she’s looking for in life and in love. Although Baumbach directed Frances Ha, I’ll still always consider this a Gerwig film. It has her in every nook and cranny of itself. I consistently leave Gerwig films with one thought; there is no greater love than the love that exists between two women. And that thought is what encapsulates that entire moment of the film and Frances’ journey towards realizing that herself.

Since I moved out of my parent’s house to go to college in 2015, I have lived in eight different places in three different cities. I have experienced so much bad and so much good. Recently, I made the decision to leave Los Angeles and move back home to Madison, WI. This was a difficult decision to come to because, living in Los Angeles is something I have dreamed about doing for as long as I can remember. If you were to ask me three years ago, I would have said that landing in LA would be my happy ending. But it wasn’t. I’ve felt so much regret about my decision to even move there in the first place because of how much work and money it took. I’ve felt shame for having to turn around and come back home, after working so hard to get there. I’ve obsessed over the two years I spent in LA and have viewed them as an expensive waste of time. However, something I’ve been trying to remind myself lately is that, the only way to learn is to live. You have to experience life in order to figure out what it is that you like and what it is that you don’t. There is no such thing as a waste of time.

It’s difficult to realize this simple truth in the moment however, I believe that most things do happen for a reason. At the film’s end, when Frances and all of her friends and ex-roommates from over the years gather to watch the dance she choreographed, this idea feels relevant. Every person we encounter, plays a role in our story. Each circumstance we find ourselves in sets us up for what is next. You’d think that being as big of a Greta Gerwig fan as I am, I’d have seen Frances Ha years ago however, I believe there’s a reason why I didn’t watch it until now. Frances is a people pleaser, like myself. As I said before, she relies on other people and their perception of her for validation. Early in the film she says, “I’m tired. I’m always so tired.” I find that I tend to exhaust myself when I hyper-fixate on trying to be and act how others want me to. When I was in the closet, I was tired all the time. Frances and I are the same age and I too am broke and trying to make things work in a big city. One can imagine how poignant this film felt for me to watch at this moment in my life and while it didn’t solve all of my problems by any means, it made me feel less alone. For many years now, I’ve felt as though in Greta’s films suppose my life in such a strong and tangible way that it’s almost too difficult for me to put into words. Frances Ha is no different and I will cherish this film for the rest of my life.