Mistress America is a madcap coming-of-age made with the distinctive imprint of writer/director Noah Baumbach and co-writer and star, Greta Gerwig. Having collaborated on Greenberg (2010) and Frances Ha (2012), their creative connection is reflected on screen once again, where the titular Mistress America prompts as much laughter as discomfort. Like the Mistress herself, the movie is brash, unapologetic and sometimes hard to keep up with. For precisely these reasons, it’s also a joy. Mistress America solidifies Gerwig and Baumbach as sophisticated storytellers as they bring their unique meld of sorrow and silliness to the screen.
Tracy (Lola Kirke) begins her first year at Barnard like any other college freshmen: eager, ambitious and desperately alone. As she tells her mother, “It’s like being at a party where you don’t know anybody, all the time.” After failing to get into the literary society, she befriends Tony (Matthew Shear) and they hit it off until he abruptly introduces Nicolette (Jasmine Cephas Jones), his comically possessive girlfriend. Tracy has no choice but to call her future stepsister, a 30 year-old woman she’s never met. Brooke (Gerwig) is a college dropout, a social media maven and an entrepreneurial upstart rolled into one. She parades through Times Square and shows Tracy an unforgettable night, dancing on stage at a concert, kissing the lead singer and making it to spinning class the next morning, where she pedals like a ponytailed goddess. For Tracy, Brooke is the freewheeling, fast-living woman that symbolizes what New York is supposed to be. She’s also the perfect inspiration for a new short story.
Baumbach and Gerwig’s style reaches new heights of modern screwball. It takes a couple minutes for one’s ears to adjust to the rapid pace of dialogue; the wit is so impressive that it require a suspension of disbelief. What’s even more enlivening is the development of Tracy and Brooke’s characters, two headstrong women whose conversations are refreshingly free from the chains of boy talk. Their relationship is a throwback to Desperately Seeking Susan, wherein a buttoned-up protagonist is swept up by a zany partner. The bouncy, electronic score by Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips (founding members of the ‘90s band Luna) underlines this retro atmosphere.
Brooke dreams of opening a communal restaurant/salon/gallery. She already has investors and a space, but when the biggest backer pulls out, she’s left to scramble. What follows is a road trip to the Connecticut home of Brooke’s former “BFF” (Heather Lind) and wealthy ex-boyfriend (Michael Chernus). With Tracy, Nicolette and Matt in tow, the domestic space is infiltrated and a farce ensues. Brooke is afforded one last chance at pitching her multi-functional storefront and the whole visit turns into a charade of stolen cats, pregnant women and frozen weed. Weaving through the mansion, Baumbach’s direction is a delight to watch and deft comedic turns from the supporting cast crystallize Mistress into something truly laugh-out-loud funny.
Baumbach has become Hollywood’s resident expert on personal contradiction. His characters are striving, egotistical and utterly unaware of the paradoxes in which live. Like the son who admires his domineering father (The Squid and the Whale) or the middle-aged man who imitates the posturing hipster (While We’re Young), Tracy admires Brooke’s to the point of self-imposed blindness. She recognizes the tragic side of Brooke’s yearning but, “it was too much fun to agree with her.” Tracy fictionalizes Brooke to her benefit, which could be seen as a form of theft, but Brooke is using Tracy too; she needs Tracy to believe in her dynamic self-mythologizing. Once again with Baumbach, idolization becomes indicative of a lack of self-knowledge on the part of both the idolizer and the idolized. Ultimately, the story belongs to Tracy, who evolves into a better writer and more independent person, perhaps a Mistress America of a new variety.