Back in 2010, I had a residency at The Marketplace. Until the pandemic shut it down in 2020, it was my favorite theater in Long Beach, CA because it always felt like I was discovering movies there. So long as my car had gas in it, I would check the showtimes and find something that sounded halfway interesting. The gamble didn’t always pay off, but more often than not, I would find something that felt special. They catered largely to independent cinema, and I loved seeing a local community that shared the interest in supporting these films. They often featured free promotional materials in the lobby, making it feel like I was in on a secret.
I cannot recall why I had chosen to see Greenberg (2010) during that searing summer. It could be the Ben Stiller of it all, fresh off of a recent run that included the masterpiece Tropic Thunder (2008), or maybe it was less meaningful than that. Buying a ticket, I sat in the room in the back right corner and prepared for things to happen.
Revisiting the film in 2023, I can agree about one thing from being 21: I don’t like Greenberg. It’s a nice piece of So Cal cinema that reflects our diverse population, but I’m annoyed at how it feels like one of those cloying vanity projects Stiller wanted to make. He’s too miserable, reflecting a Gen-X disconnect from the rising Millennial presence. While I can appreciate the clarity that arrives in the third act, it’s still a boring movie that leaves me checking my watch. On the one hand, I am amazed at how many supporting actors were at the cusp of their careers taking off. However, even as I am someone who adores the work of Andrew Bujalski or The Duplass Brothers, this take on mumblecore was beyond interminable.
That is, except for one performance. Given that I’m watching this to prepare for Barbie (2023) on Friday, the desire to see where I first discovered Greta Gerwig was overwhelming. She’s on the verge of releasing a $100+ million grosser and outselling auteurs like Christopher Nolan. How did this indie darling end up creating a film that, among its achievements, was said to cause an international crisis because of how much pink paint it used? Rewatching Greenberg, I’m reminded that this was also a turning point for its director Noah Baumbach, who was about to enter one of his most prosperous eras as a filmmaker. As much as Greenberg remains a sore spot in his catalog, the decision to collaborate more openly with Gerwig proved to be his saving grace.
Described as a “West Coast Holly Golightly,” Gerwig’s performance in Greenberg is something in 2010 that qualified as a breakout performance. Sitting there, I was entranced by her mannerisms. She was intellectual, but also had this way of expressing her nervousness that was unlike anything I had seen. I remember seeing her sing a Paul McCartney song and being awestruck. In my mind, the moment is two minutes long. In actuality, it was less than 30 seconds. Still, there was so much that made me feel like I discovered the next big thing. If judging her performance on its own, I was in love with what she was doing. I needed more.
As much as films like Little Miss Sunshine (2006) and Juno (2007) were pivotal in informing my taste in cinema, Greenberg inadvertently introduced me to a mold that I haven’t actually escaped. While it would be many years until I actually worked retroactively into Gerwig’s mumblecore years, it was a period where I was watching the HBO series Girls and finding that free-formed conversation approach to be the greatest thing in the world. Even among these circles, Gerwig was the master. Nobody was able to provide a monologue as perfectly as her. She wasn’t an actress who could fit so easily into a box, and I think watching her being a guinea pig for a few years with films like Arthur (2011) showed how difficult it was for others to understand her. Even rewatching Greenberg, I’m not totally sold on her being the manic pixie dream girl that she’s trying to be. Knowing where her career would go, it feels odd to see her play such a cliché role, the love interest to an older man. Still, I think I’m doomed to return to this movie for the endorphins I get remembering that sense of discovery.
There are few performers in one’s life whom you grow precious about. I think you can only fully achieve it during youth when you’re naïve and inexperienced. This isn’t to say that I’ve gone a year without finding new talent to follow, but Gerwig was so much in my wheelhouse, commenting on my generation, that I can’t see anyone matching the joy I get in seeing her succeed. There was something cathartic about watching her stumble through some studio misfires only to realize that her strengths were in self-driven projects. She had to play confident women that reflected a not often used archetype. Given that the 2010s was a reckoning of representation, she was a purveyor of something new. Women’s stories mattered in her cinema. Their journeys were allowed to have triumphs and messy failures. There was a depth that was always there, but I don’t think it would take hold until the Gerwig/Baumbach follow-up Frances Ha (2013).
I have very specific memories of watching a handful of Gerwig’s movies in a theater. In the case of Frances Ha, I remember finishing a math test and then speeding over to catch it. I was so close to showtime that I was a few trailers in by the time I sat down. While there’s been close to a dozen films I’ve loved since, it wouldn’t be hyperbole to suggest that this was her defining achievement. Frances Ha was a definitive statement about being aimless in your Mid-20s, watching certain friends succeed and still trying to find meaning in your life. Along with references to French New Wave classics, this was a movie that presented Gerwig’s strengths as an actor and writer. Even her use of dancing in the film spoke to what endeared her to me. As society was shifting into less conventional modes of communication, watching Gerwig awkwardly provide a monologue about friendship before declaring “I’m just stoned” is the perfect undercutting of any development. Continuing the unclassifiable argument, Frances Ha wasn’t a romantic comedy. There was no love interest outside of friendship. She was very interested in exploring things outside the tropes we had grown up on.
I think there’s a good reason to argue that her run between 2010-2015 would leave people more skeptical. She was more experimental in her roles, even producing downright problematic films like To Rome With Love (2012) and The Humbling (2014), which found her stretching her potential, but at the hands of an outdated model. Prior to The Me Too Movement, the chances of working with abusive producers were more common, causing certain accusations to be overlooked and the promotion of bad behavior to be seen more as a “let him cook” technique. As a result, watching Gerwig play more conventional girlfriend types showed her struggling to appeal to a mainstream audience. Still, every now and then films like Mistress America (2015) would arise and remind me why she was an essential voice. Somewhere in that performance is a Millennial conflict that is all too familiar, of trying to make yourself a self-starter success and finding it hollow and empty. While there was an argument that Mistress America was superior to Frances Ha, I think we’ve all accepted that it is at best a B-Side work with an excellent supporting role by Lola Kirke.
When assessing the true reason for “Why Greta Gerwig Matters,” it’s important to note how she impacted filmmaking. She started alongside the mumblecore icons, producing films like Hannah Takes the Stairs (2007) that were freestyle conversations, at times lacking a significant plot. The reason that I love this type of cinema is because of how natural it can feel. While the average film is full of actors who didn’t amount to much, Gerwig’s eagerness was always there, experimenting with her identity. She would say that she rehearsed her later scripts until it felt rhythmic, and it’s easy to see why. You can’t fully get that without improvisational technique from directors like Joe Swanberg, showing where a character can arrive when going beyond the self-consciousness of a script. There was no pressure, and I’d argue it lead to clever character studies. Whereas Hannah Takes the Stairs feels genuine even at a fraction of its budget, I feel like Greenberg is too calculated and the work of a Hollywood actor trying to relate. It feels artificial, yet I think it’s necessary to understand Gerwig’s growth.
Now and then she would find some excellent acting roles outside of her own scripts, notably Jackie (2016) and 20th Century Women (2016), but her turn to directing has been one of the most fortuitous decisions of the past decade. It was only a matter of time until she took control of her work, breaking free (temporarily) of collaboration with Baumbach. It was her chance to show what she learned from the mumblecore era, from working in studio comedies and partnering with auteurs who challenged her to be more than the sporadic, ditzy friend. While I genuinely miss her in front of the camera to the point that White Noise (2022) made me ecstatic just by seeing her, I can’t argue against her work behind the camera, where her scripts were finally allowed to shine.
What makes Gerwig stand out is that she not only continued to thrive and grow, but I think that she has become an essential voice in filmmaking. In 2010 I saw her as a contemporary, but now she’s creating her own language and producing work that I think speaks to the changing tides. She was never a victim creatively of a more male-dominated industry, but it’s only now that she has challenged the idea of what stories should be made. If the Oscars are any indicator, she’s been greatly appreciated by her peers with TWO Best Picture nominees.
Once again, I think Gerwig being close to my age allows for a certain relativity that I cannot get from newer performers. To watch Lady Bird (2017) is to recognize parts of myself in Saoirse Ronan’s performance. I was 13 in 2002 at a Catholic middle school. I recognize the ideas she discusses along with the conflict between parent and child. There’s so much emotion in it that makes it one of the best coming of age films of the past decade. I remember seeing it at The Marketplace with a crowded theater and having that revelation, knowing that Gerwig was officially being ushered in as a new standard. She would go even further with Little Women (2019) where she challenged the Louisa May Alcott text through a modern lens and found something more provocative and timeless within it. It’s become a December essential for me. It’s funny, heartfelt, but also makes you think about so much of how fiction is used to share stories.
That in itself has been what Gerwig’s great appeal has been. While Greenberg started with her playing an assistant to a burnt-out musician who wrote complaint letters, Gerwig is now in control of her narrative. I’m not entirely sure what Barbie will have, but I’m very hopeful it will be more than a cynical cash grab. There’s been enough evidence to suggest that she’s not going to sacrifice her vision. It may be silly and over the top, but the Gerwig identity will be running through its veins. To think of a general public openly embracing it makes me happy. I would like to imagine it makes them revisit her previous work, to recognize that this subversive take was the accomplishment of an artist who has commented on the modern age with such vulnerability and honesty that she is deserving of accolades. I’m still nervous that this could go the other way, but she can’t be an indie darling forever. The only hope is that she never forgets how to tell a compelling story.
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