The Now Relatable Frances Ha

There’s a scene in a Baumbach’s 2013 New Wave inspired Frances Ha where our protagonist, Frances, is at dinner with a friend of a friend, Lev. Recounting his stint in the New York Knick’s locker room, contrasting Frances’ personality with every self affirming quip and making jokes about “liberated women”, he’s the typical New York hipster that thinks they’re a brilliant artist when, in reality, they’re just rich. Despite his clear and obnoxious economic status, being the independent spirit she is, Frances offers to pay. Upon this effort, her card is declined. While frantically searching for cash she says “I’m so embarrassed, I’m not a real person yet”.

I watched Frances Ha for the first time during high school and I didn’t particularly enjoy it. For whatever reason, I found the protagonist annoying, every character insufferable, and the film itself a slow crawl that never managed to hook me. I never thought I wasn’t a real person.

Upon rewatching, I found myself falling in love with the witty and poignant dialogue, the simple camera techniques and the story of a lost protagonist hoping for something greater. When reevaluating my relationship with this film, I find my reactions are only natural. Frances encapsulates the anxieties of every person entering adulthood. With only a dream in her wallet, Frances’ life quickly spirals when she breaks up with her boyfriend, loses her best friend Sophie (who is in the midst of ‘becoming an adult’), and becomes essentially homeless. She bounces from apartment to apartment living with people who never understand her, losing money all the while she attempts to piece together a future for herself. Eventually, she gives up on her dream of being a dancer and compromises to pursue choreography, with the film ending on a hopeful note of Frances achieving a partial dream now with new responsibilities. A story of lost desires, financial insecurity and loneliness that feels like you’re standing on your tip toes to keep your mouth an inch above water is a reflection of the fears anyone has when entering adulthood. It makes for an inherently relatable story, and now only a few years from my only safety from the real world, I found even myself enjoying the film. Although the plot is inherently relatable for anyone scared of the future, it is in the details where I started to feel like Frances and enjoyed every second of it.

The dialogue of Frances Ha is addictive and packed with meaning. Despite a depressing premise, the film has a comical overtone that keeps it lighthearted. Every character, situation, or line is expressed with an exaggerative manner that masterfully balances a comic subtlety. Lev, as noted earlier, is the New York hipster. He rides a motorcycle and wants you to think it’s as cool as he does. He sashay’s through life without a care in the world with his only two priorities being to sleep with a different women every night and convince others he’s suave. Benji is the kid with too much money and confidence. One day he’s writing Gremlins 3 and crying at his own script, the next he’s working on a SNL skit for ten minutes before quitting and catching a flick instead. He even takes money from his step-dad claiming he “cracked”, calling his financial support “a bastard”. The audience can see how these are caricature’s of everyday life, allowing the film to be somewhat exaggerative yet still feel grounded and relatable. However, it’s the contrast in characters that makes them both comical and real. Sophie, Frances’ best friend, makes fun of the type of guy that says “I have to take a leek” and wears pre-distressed baseball hats. Twenty minutes after this conversation, and her pursuit of attaining a “grown up” lifestyle partners her with Patch, a man who’s first lines are “sorry, I had to take a leak” while proudly donning a distressed baseball hat. It’s lighthearted, but points at a contradiction in Sophie that adds depth to her character, she’s willing to undermine her own beliefs in order to live a life that seems “adult”, whatever that means. Then there’s Frances, the most fully realized character of them all that exudes the comical realness of the film. Frances is dependent on others, which only makes Sophie’s sudden departure sting all the more. Worse, she is surrounded by people who seemingly don’t care for her. When she tells Benji and Lev that her night with them was the best one she’s had since Sophie left, they say nothing. Her dance partner she later stays with, Rachel, seemingly hates Frances and her antics. When Frances tries to play fight it only ends in shouting, like a child being punished for misbehaving. Frances also lies about her professional career to her best friend turned stranger when she claims she’ll finally be a full time dancer, which never comes to fruition. It’s these actions that display Frances’ character as someone who doesn’t want to grow up and requires love to function in a world that is forcing her to do the opposite.

“Nadia, I want this one moment...it’s what I want in a relationship, which might explain why I’m single now ha ha. It’s hard to...it’s like that thing where you are 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 laughing and shining and you look across the room and catch each other’s eye not because you are possessive or that it’s precisely sexual but because that is your person in this life. And it’s funny and sad, but only because this life will end, and it’s a secret world that no one else knows about that exists right there in public unnoticed - sort of like how they say other dimensions exist all around us but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s...that’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess. Love. Blah, I sound stoned” - Frances Ha

Frances quirks and idiosyncrasies make her relatable and unfit for the lifestyles of those she meets. Her childlike personality clashes with the professional world of Sophie and Rachel, and her economic position separates her from Lev and Benji. In the midst of this chaos, Frances runs away from it all, eventually traveling to Paris for two days. When she bumps into her once housemate Benji on the street, she is promptly told by his girlfriend that traveling on a credit card is irresponsible. Oh, and Benji has a beard. While subtle, it shows that everyone, even the man child himself, is changing while Frances runs from the responsibilities that will force her to do the same. The film then not only captures the very real cyclical nature of making enough money to live, the desperation to stay young, and a losing pursuit of a dream, but an understanding of where you belong. Frances compromises and settles for a life that she learns to enjoy, which is in line for the light hearted nature of the film. It’s a real ending, one that shows not all dreams come true, but notably, doesn’t dismiss that. Frances grew up and settled, but is genuinely happy because of it.

As a sophomore in college, I have similar dreams and fears as Frances, and hope my life can turn out like hers (despite how much the character would argue against that). I want to be successful, make it big, stay young forever, and exist void of responsibility, but odds are that will never happen. Frances tells me that’s ok. As a high-schooler I never expected to face problems like those depicted in the movie, but now as a young adult, these worries already plague me. Although I never thought I would, I felt like Frances, and I’m sure everyone else watching did too.