Lady Bird - a review                             ****

Greta Gerwig is an experienced artist. Having worked both professionally and romantically alongside fellow cinema whizz kid Noah Baumbach (co-writer of Wez Anderson’s Life Aquatic and oscar nominee for Best Original Screenplay, The Squid and the Whale ) since 2009, Gerwig really knows her stuff. Actress, writer, director : her’s is a name which should immediately pack a respect-inducing punch. And in her first solo dalliance with direction, Lady Bird, she follows through the throw, delivering a smart, sensitive, mildly bruising dissection of those odd summer days before we are officially expected to bid the dog farewell and take on the big bad world.

 Gerwig begins her Oscar-Nodded piece with deceptive modesty. Girl has best friend; girl betrays best friend in order to fulfil dreams of popularity; girl makes all the necessarily incorrect decisions concerning boys. Que the audience nestle into the comfortable familiar. Don’t get me wrong : this indie movie crafts such elements perfectly.We begin to revel in Ladybird’s generically adolescent two-fingers -up attitude, gleefully watching as she ticks off the teenage to do list with comic determination. But one could be forgiven for thinking, at first, that Gerwig had simply mixed up a highly accomplished re-hash of many seen-before flicks.

But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Greta Gerwig is a far, far smarter woman than this, and to label her piece merely ‘familiar’ would be be to do it a severe injustice. Instead, Gerwig gives us more than just those coming of age cliches, and allows her work to rightfully skip its way into a list of films considered the very best the year has had to offer.

What is perhaps most remarkable about Gewrig’s latest vision is her tender approach to the adult perspective. She casts long, unapologetic shots upon the fully grown members of the cast in her rare diversion from the genre’s young protagonist, and in doing so allows the portrayal of adult vulnerability in the wake of youthful brutality to truly sing. In one brilliantly observed moment, we watch as Marion Mcphearson, fiercely portrayed by Laurie Metcalf, quietly crumples in response to her daughter’s condemnation of their home as ‘on the wrong side of the tracks’- only to immediately re-compose herself in a painfully maternal fashion. It’s weak smiles all round as her daughter bounds out of the door. It is in moments such as these that we can truly appreciate how Gerwig has very cleverly prised open the Coming of Age model, allowing equal space for both the protagonist and the less obvious adult role to grow and breathe.

But perhaps the most poignant of Gerwig’s explorations is that into  the sledge- hammer influence of adolescence. In one understatedly devastating moment, Christine (aka the self Christened Lady Bird -”it’s given to me BY me”) learns that asking to be dropped a few blocks back from school in her very real attempt to avoid the embarrassment of parental association, was in fact not so cleverly concealed by her claim to 'enjoy the walk’. Instead, it has made its mark on an already troubled father . Lady Bird’s painful teetering and eventual cliff-top-chucking into the moments when we realise our parents are not nearly as strong and unbreakable as they so surely seem to be is a strike of genius on Gerwig’s behalf. It reminds us that this a film which thinks above and beyond.

Whilst Gerwig’s cast shine out, Saoirse Ronan’s performance certainly living up to its hype and recognition, it really is the writing of this film which pushes it from the nest, one of Gerwig’s most charming achievements being the script’s unwilling to lay total blame at any character’s door. She has always portrayed her characters lovingly. The sparky, messy, utterly gorgeous presentation of Frances Ha(….) back in 2013 encouraged critics to hail the character  as amongst the 'most relatable ever’, whilst the 2016 hit Mistress America had its audience wishing we all had a step-sister-to-be as scratchily charming as Gerwig’s Brooke. In Ladybird, the trend continues. She shapes characters of an intoxicatingly broken nature, none of whom we are ever asked to fully condemn. Timothee Chalamet’s Kyle has been hailed the classic bad-boy of the piece, and is certainly shaped, to a certain extent, as the romantic con-quest we all must foolishly surmount so as to 'get it out of the system’.  But you will have to forgive me if I disagree with the general audience condemnation of Chalamet’s supposed 'cookie-cutter’ character. Yes, he enjoys frowning too much and ultimately makes some questionable decisions concerning his relationship with Ronan’s eponymous protagonist. But he does all this before returning home to a Father suffering from cancer.  Immediately, Kyle is the broken boy with whom Gerwig demands we sympathise. Once again, the director dares us to say that this is a typical teenage narrative. There are no flat characters; no ‘bad boys’, no ‘terrible parents’ or ‘cruel teachers’.There are just people. 

Humanity only really has so many variations of the same story to tell. But what sets aside the truly great story tellers is the way in which they tell it. With Lady Bird, Gerwig has certainly returned to her Frances Ha fed roots, with a film that celebrates the romance of youthful mistakes and the places into which we are born. But now she is older and wiser, and her new triumph gives the Coming of Age a much needed shot of rawness, reminding us through this delightfully biting comedy that whether we are 17 years old or 47 years old, there are always tantrums to be had, apologies to be made, and lessons to be learned.