”Youth is wasted on the young.”
“I’d go further. I’d go, ‘Life is wasted on people.’”
Independent filmmaker Noah Baumbach has specialized in films about aimlessness, mid-life misanthropy and familial dysfunction. Greenberg is Baumbach’s latest, co-written with wife/actress Jennifer Jason Leigh. It’s a sequel in spirit to Baumbach’s semi-autobiographical The Squid and the Whale as one could easily picture Jesse Eisenberg’s Walt Berkman aging into Ben Stiller’s Roger Greenberg. The title character of Greenberg is just as self-involved and neurotic as the title character of Margot at the Wedding.
Stiller’s Greenberg is a former L.A. native transplanted to New York. In his youth, he was in a band, but torpedoed a record deal due to ego. He works as a carpenter nowadays and is fresh off a stint in a mental institute. Returning to Los Angeles, Greenberg housesits for his wealthier brother, Phillip (Chris Messina), who has taken his family on a vacation to Vietnam. Greenberg is somewhat proud of the fact that he’s mostly trying to do “nothing.” He does, however, write letters to Starbucks and NYC’s Mayor Bloomberg, complaining about minor inconveniences like traffic noise.
Back in town, Greenberg attempts to reconnect with his old girlfriend, Beth (Jason Leigh), and his best friend, Ivan (Rhys Ifans). Ivan was Greenberg’s guitarist and now works in computer repair. Though he doesn’t show it, there’s an underlying layer of bitterness on his part.
Greenberg manages to find a kindred spirit in Phillip’s personal assistant, Florence (Greta Gerwig). She’s one of those college graduates without direction once their forced into the real world. The poster girl of the modern, mumblecore movement meets the disgruntled remnants of Generation X. Florence does the usual grunt work of an assistant such as grocery shopping and picking up laundry. At night, she sings at tiny hipster clubs to a crowd of two or three people. Florence takes Greenberg to her apartment where the latter’s awkward attempt at oral sex succinctly defines the future of their relationship.
Greenberg flies in the face of cinematic tenet that your protagonist must be likeable. He’s whiny, at best, and downright tactless and cruel, at worst. Having lunch with Ivan at Musso & Frank’s, Greenberg invites Florence and promptly calls Beth then throws a profane tantrum when the wait staff sings, “Happy Birthday” for him. He’s the kind of mopey, middle-aged, and white intellectual that independent films have been fascinated with for whatever reasons. Their 40 but haven’t grown up. Aside from Tamara Jenkins’ The Savages, the subject matter hasn’t made for gripping drama.
The film’s charm lies almost solely in the hands of Greta Gerwig. Her Florence is one of the most genuine female characters I’ve seen in recent memory. She just looks and feels real with her dirty blonde hair, a slouch, and a body with a little pinch of flab that belies the well-toned figures we come to expect from a leading lady. Florence feels she wandered in from another film and nearly hijacks Greenberg from Greenberg. The movie opens with Florence navigating through the streets of L.A., meekly murmuring to herself, ”Are you gonna let me in? No?”
Greenberg is a film that’s just as much about Los Angeles as it is it’s cast of disaffected characters. There’s an aura of disconnect that comes with living in L.A. I know I always felt it. Greenberg embodies that disconnect and stands as a polar opposite to the optimistic attitudes of sunny Southern California. This is never more apparent when the 41 year-old Greenberg partying and snorting coke with a house full of entitled 20-somethings. They listen to the old-timer with bemusement as he classifies them as all, ”…ADD and carpal tunnel.” Then, respond with disdain when Greenberg puts on Duran Duran.
Greenberg is an unlikely romantic comedy, one that’s neither romantic nor particularly comedic. It feels like a cynical film with a tinge of hope and centered around two marvelous performances by Greta Gerwig and Ben Stiller.
Rating: ** ½
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