Mistress America

“There’s nothing I don’t know about myself. That’s why I can’t do therapy.” Mistress America is the latest and so far probably best of Baumbach’s indie comedies about talkative New York intellectuals with artistic ambitions whose self-confidence far exceeds their actual abilities. Irresistible for some and unbearable for others, Brooke ceaselessly spits out words in an effort to convince those around her that she is the personification of the ideal that every female New York hipster wants to achieve. Funny, popular, independent and successful, she is her own woman. She is knowledgeable about current cultural and technological trends, though she is a bit disdainful of them at the same time. This is how she presents herself in her artificial world on social networks, and it is also how the inexperienced Tracy sees her. In reality, she has neither friends nor the patience to see a project through to the end, and her seemingly inexhaustible energy is merely well-disguised hysteria. She is surprisingly confronted with harsh reality thanks to Tracy, who misuses her as a satisfying source of literary inspiration and, besides her character traits (self-confidence bordering on arrogance), impertinently “borrows” her life story. The merciless uncovering of the true nature of the outwardly flawless Brooke places Mistress America in the line of films and series like Girls, setting a mirror in front of the generation that should soon be running society but still lacks most of the prerequisites to do that (e.g. the ability to independently choose the right pasta). At the same time, the bitter undertones do not prevent us from enjoying the refined visual aspect, the excellent placement of the actors in space (which in several settings is created in part by the characters’ voices in addition to their movements) and the truly funny one-liners that the characters fire at each other at the frenzied pace of the best screwball comedies. The dialogue has an almost musical rhythm. In addition to words, Baumbach uses, for example, Tracy’s sabre throwing and a pair of cute cats to get to the point. One breathless scene leads to the next and basically the film constantly escalates through the first half, so we don’t get a chance to really get to know the characters. The demolition of dreamed-of worlds and the casting off of masks, for which we are prepared by the narrator’s commentary on how the world began to turn against Meadow (Brooke’s fictional alter ego), happens only during the narratively and beautifully concise developmental act in Greenwich. As the characters lose their illusions about themselves, the ode to female friendship transforms into a scathing portrait of a generation growing up in a world that offers so many possibilities that it is almost impossible to be yourself, to be original and not imitate someone else. Neither the easing of the rhythm nor the sudden change in the tone of the narrative is a penalty for this. Though rarely consistent, Mistress America is in every respect a well-made comedy that deserves significantly more attention than the films of the same genre and the same country of origin with which distributors commonly contaminate cinemas. 85% (25/02/2018) (moins) (plus)