Likable Field rescues predictable romance
Making jokes about millennials and baby boomers has become remarkably easy these days, as newspaper articles, reports and water-cooler grumbles have helped collect a sizable catalogue of stereotypes from which to draw on. As with any stereotype, there may be some degree of truth to them, but that doesn’t mean using them isn’t easy or uninspired.
So in watching Hello, My Name Is Doris, an intergenerational dramedy about a bashful boomer (Sally Field) who falls for her millennial co-worker, John (Max Greenfield), it’s hard to shake the feeling that it’s all too familiar.
The conceit of a possible intergenerational romance certainly has an appealing “See? We can all get along” olive branch quality, but much of the movie is too eager to sabotage its better intention with well-worn jokes about millennials (They like vintage kitsch!) and boomers (They don’t get social media!).
The familiarity of its humour would be easier to forgive if its narrative ambitions weren’t equally recognizable. Both the arc of the possible romance, as well as that of Doris’s pursuit of renewed meaning for her life, hit exactly the plot points you’d expect, exactly when you’d expect them to.
And it trots out its fair share of easy metaphors, like making Doris a hoarder of objects she can’t let go of and having her say things like, “Some people throw away really nice things” (Hint: she’s talking about her life).
In that way, the movie is no less a hoarder than Doris. It convinces itself that dusty jokes and narrative clichés are worth holding on to. That’s somewhat of a surprise from director and co-writer Michael Showalter, given that he’s shown in previous work (Wet Hot American Summer, They Came Together) a keen awareness and an inclination toward the skewering of movie clichés. Here, he leans into them, and it’s hard to tell if it’s willingly or unawares.
Still, the story never feels lifeless, thanks to Sally Field, whose effect on the film echoes what Doris says at her mother’s funeral: “I’m supposed to hold up, so I’m holding up.”
The two-time Oscar winner gamely navigates Doris from dowdy introvert to woman existentially (and sexually) awakened. All while imbuing her with a poignant likability — whether she’s goofily daydreaming in a corporate break room, dancing with no inhibition to electronic music, sharing a heartbreaking story of lost love and regrets, or unleashing years of resentment at a brother (Stephen Root) who let her give up her life to take care of their ailing mother.
She blesses Doris with so much poignancy that eventually her efforts transfer feelings of goodwill to the movie as a whole. For all the familiar territory it covers, watching this movie isn’t unlike when someone starts a joke or a story by saying “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before” and you realize that you have.
But because it’s not a bad joke or story, and they’re telling it well enough, there’s some entertainment, even comfort, to be drawn from hearing it again.