A New York woman (who doesn't really have an apartment) apprentices for a dance company (though she's not really a dancer) and throws herself headlong into her dreams, even as the possibility of realizing them dwindles.
After college graduation, Grover's girlfriend Jane tells him she's moving to Prague to study writing. Grover declines to accompany her, deciding instead to move in with several friends, all... See full summary »
Frances lives in New York, but she doesn't really have an apartment. Frances is an apprentice for a dance company, but she's not really a dancer. Frances has a best friend named Sophie, but they aren't really speaking anymore. Frances throws herself headlong into her dreams, even as their possible reality dwindles. Frances wants so much more than she has but lives her life with unaccountable joy and lightness.Written by
It's official. I hate this director's movies. I've been wondering why, and I have been wondering why I feel so angry about them, and it finally dawned on me: it's about class.
See, I grew up working class, not indulged, and I had work for a living starting at age 16. I understand the value of hard work, sure, but I also understand the necessity for it for people like me. When I and my relatives have problems, they are real problems: cancer, loss of job that may result in homelessness, bearing for years an awful boss with 40 IQ points less than us because we need the boring job, alcoholism and no money to go to tony recovery resorts, having to eat beans and rice not from some eating disorder/fad but because that's all we can afford, living with dental pain for five years because we can't afford basic dentistry (much less teeth bleaching) and the grinding, endless truth of being stuck in our class because the uberwealthy won't allow us to move from it, no matter how well we follow the rules of careful education, careful savings, and hard work. So when I see these movies by overly indulged people and about overly indulged people, I get so angry I see red.
I don't care about these people and their petty, self-invented "problems." I wish for them that they get hit by a truck and lose a leg or two and earn a real problem so they understand what BS this BS they make films about is. (not that such a thing would be a real problem for them like it would be for people of my class who can't afford good health care, but at least it wouldn't be more of this non-problem crap they get so whiny about in their whiny movies.) Movies like this make me wonder, and not for the first time, why there isn't a violent class revolution. Hey, we'd like just a year or two of experiencing these non-problem "problems," too. "Gee, I can't decide what upper middle class artsy thing to be after my trip to Paris. Gee, my parents don't love me perfectly in just the way I want to be loved." Yeahyeahyeah. Poor you.
74 of 138 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful to you?
| Report this