Photo by Merie Wallace / A24
Lady Bird flew away with my heart.
An ode to youth, family, Sacramento, and the difficult work that accompanies growing up, Lady Bird is a heartfelt triumph, and one of 2017’s best offerings. The small-scale story, bursting with ambition, empathy, and authentically hilarious situations, is a work of the utmost talent from one of American cinema’s brightest voices. Greta Gerwig is one of the most talented writers and actresses working today, and her auspicious directorial debut cements her as an exciting new triple threat.
From beat one, Lady Bird announces itself as a study in contrasts. Lady Bird herself (Saoirse Ronan, who I’ll get to) is at once confident and insecure, resentful of her city and her mother while also relying on them and clearly loving them both. Her mother, a struggling nurse played by Laurie Metcalf, who in one memorable long take nearly steals the whole movie, loves her daughter but doesn’t always know how to express it best. Out of this critical and complicated relationship, Gerwig and her company of ridiculously talented actors spin a tale that covers everything from class anxiety to the intricacies of Catholic schooling to the simple mundanity of feeling stuck in place by one’s youth.
There aren’t enough words to address the high-caliber work Saoirse Ronan brings to her protagonist, believably shifting between Lady Bird’s selfish impulses and often too-late realizations that her actions can negatively affect those around her. Ronan, at only 23 years old, has held the screen expertly in movies like Hanna and Brooklyn, and Gerwig’s script amplifies her strengths, giving Lady Bird a prickly, active confidence which Ronan never lets slip into mere caricature. That Lady Bird’s self-given name doesn’t feel like a twee indie wrinkle is entirely due to the nuance of Ronan’s performance. Pray that Hollywood doesn’t steal her from the indie scene.
So often high school stories rely on a romantic arc to sell their narrative, and while Lady Bird bounces between theater kid Danny (Lucas Hedges) and the anti-establishment Kyle (Timothée Chalamet, wringing authenticity out of one of the film’s most charmingly specific weirdos), Gerwig keeps an affectionate distance between the audience and these flings. Her protagonist’s journey is too rich to be confined to the tidy, self-important romantic conclusion these kinds of movies employ too often.
Not to say that love isn’t one of Lady Bird’s significant dimensions, whether that be the love between a mother and daughter, between a young woman and her friends and her city, or even the furtive, hopeful impulsiveness of young romance. Gerwig mines comedy and pathos from the reality that no loving relationship is easy, and not all pain can be healed easily. Lady Bird herself is growing, slowly, to realize that. Watching her, and Ronan, really come to terms with the harm and empathy the character is capable of, feels invigorating and personal in a way most coming of age stories only dream of achieving.
It’s also hilarious. Lady Bird is far and away the best comedy of 2017, thanks in part to the specificity of its settings: Lady Bird’s dysfunctional household, the city of Sacramento, where Gerwig grew up, and the Catholic high school which she attended, are all affectionately satirized. There’s an extended subplot about a high school theatre troupe that is perfectly realized and provides some of the funniest moments of the film. By deftly establishing legitimate tension within witty dialogue, even Gerwig’s most mean-spirited barbs are ultimately rooted in character development.
By focusing on character and mood instead of plot trappings or cliché teenage archetypes, and extending its scope beyond high school to examine so much more than just adolescence, Lady Bird becomes one of the best examples of the coming of age genre, and stands out as a warm, wonderful film in its own right.
Lady Bird is playing at the SIFF Egyptian Theatre now. Find showtimes here.
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