20th Century Women
“Can’t things just be pretty?” Dorothea ( Annette Bening), a Birkenstock- wearing 50- something single mom, sighs when confronted with British post- punk band the Raincoats’ first single “Fairytale in the Supermarket” in Mike Mills’ semi- autobiographical film 20th Century Women. It’s an interesting scene that tells us a lot about Dorothea, who wants to be engaged and hip to the new sounds the kids are digging but can’t completely escape her Depressionera upbringing.
An overachiever who doesn’t need a man to complete her but who nevertheless resists feminism, Dorothea is a curious character, a self- consciously unorthodox and fiercely independent woman who nevertheless finds herself occasionally baffled about the strange new world she has arrived in and fretful for her preternaturally sensitive 15- year- old son Jamie ( Lucas Jade Zumann). She’s practical and pragmatic, a strangely still ( and lonely) ringmaster at the center of a growing circle of performers she has recruited and set in motion.
Set in 1979 Santa Barbara, two hours north and a universe removed from Los Angeles, 20th Century Women is largely about Jamie’s sentimental education at the hands of his mother; her boarder Abbie ( Greta Gerwig), a young and vaguely wounded aspiring photographer on the periphery of the dark L. A. punk scene ( see Penelope Spheeris’ The Decline of Western Civilization for a primer); and his contemporary, Julie ( Elle Fanning), a troubled friend of Jamie’s with
whom he’s reasonably besotted and with whom he sometimes sleeps in aching chastity.
Rounding out this makeshift family is William ( Billy Crudup), Dorothea’s other lodger, a soft- spoken handyman who makes his own shampoo.
While the film provides us with a few indelible characters, it’s at best a mildly interesting diversion, warm but slight, that bookends Beginners, Mills’ 2011 portrait
of his father, who came out as a gay man in his 70s after the death of his second wife. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth seeing, only that it’s difficult to share some of Dorothea’s concerns about her son, who’s obviously going to turn out all right. Jamie is emotionally intelligent and alert to the prerogatives that accrue to his maleness — he’s a perfect kid.
But a mother worries nevertheless, and as Dorothea feels Jamie becoming increasingly strange to her, she enlists the others’ help in raising him to become “a good man” in a time when the definitions of masculinity
and goodness feel fluid. Meanwhile, Jamie is an everobservant ( and slightly facile) sketch artist, quickly reducing each of the others to lists of books read and generational markers. Dorothea smokes Salems because she believes they’re better for her, and has a habit of inviting strangers home. Julie reads Judy Blume novels and is required to sit in on teen therapy sessions conducted by her psychologist mother.
All these details feel significant and drawn straight from someone’s life experience, and Mills embeds them in a pleasant, quick- flowing visual style that betrays a diet
of early MTV. While Bening is the obvious focal point — and her performance is immaculate, savvy and understated with just the right undertone of desperation — all the performances are well- calibrated.
But there’s not much conflict here; although Mills does an excellent job of grazing across the surface of the times with the right sort of music and Jimmy Carter’s malaise in the air, there are a few lines that land as anachronistic on the ear and with just a touch too much nostalgia. It’s a sweet memory of a movie. It’s just a little too pretty.