The Future (2011)

For the past five years, I had avoided the work of Miranda July, including her debut film Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005).  July rose to prominence as my interest in quirk in all forms of art both bottomed out and became my oft-cited reason for ignoring that mode of art.  To be more specific, I still have yet to see Napoleon Dynamite (2004) and I have largely avoided the work of writer Dave Eggers after A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (2000) made me want to punch a wall.*  I both realize and realized (at the time) that this was not necessarily a just or fair avoidance and not a beneficial trait for a critic to have.  Yet, criticism always involves some layer of subjectivity and personal taste (ex. Roger Ebert’s distaste of violence directed at children).  After all, that is one reason why we, as readers, are drawn to the work of particular critics.  It is counter-productive to try to hide these tastes behind objective statements.  But to bring us back to the issue at hand, after reading one too many Chuck Palahniuk novels, I needed a long vacation from excessive eccentricity. 

Well, let me be a tad more specific.  When I saw Zach Braff’s Garden State (2004) in the midst of an early, full on, existential crisis (I was contemplating my fate after finishing my Bachelor’s Degree, for those curious), I initially loved it.  Sure, I thought the film had some glaring issues, like Andrew’s (Braff) relatively abrupt revelation that Sam (Natalie Portman) is the girl of his dreams, despite only knowing her for a few days.  My initial reaction quickly soured after a repeat viewing and I couldn’t help but ask myself:  When does quirk, for the sake of quirkiness, become its own antithesis?  Shortly thereafter, as the AV Club has analyzed, one of the embodiments of quirk, the Manic Pixie Girl became a cinematic convention of its own and I quickly tuned out. 

What initially drew me to see July’s latest feature, The Future (2011), is hard to say.  Living in Los Angeles can be a cinephile’s dream but, when a bunch of excellent events crop up at the last minute (including a screening of barely seen Serge Gainsbourg film with a DJ set by one of my favorite film composers, David Holmes) and sell out quickly, it can also be a nightmare.  When the Gainsbourg screening sold out, I checked the online show times and noticed The Future was playing down the street.  Then I noticed it was getting some positive reviews, that Miranda July was going to do a post-screening Q&A, and telling myself “Hey, I need to do something for a date night.  Might as well be this,” I pulled the trigger and ordered two tickets.  My point is that the only thing I had invested in seeing the film was $26 bucks, not a predetermined love of July or her pixieish picture practice.  I was, but all accounts, expecting to dislike the film. 

Needless to say, I was more than pleasantly surprised by The Future.  Yes, the film is quirky, but July’s approach to eccentricity in the film has several layers.  First and foremost, the quirky habits of Sophie (July) and Jason (Hamish Linklater) are portrayed as being a symptom of stagnation.  Sophie and Jason, a couple in their mid-thirties, are experiencing the beginnings of a mid-life crisis as a couple.  Sophie, a trained dancer, is wasting her days away teaching children how to jump about while Jason sits at home, providing remote access tech support.  They survive in a lower-middle class environment, lamenting the fact that when they were young they initially saw so much potential and now, years later, have fulfilled very little of it. 

Thus, their quirky routines together - the credits play over Sophie and Jason’s game of “freezing time” – become the glue that holds the relationship together.  Sure, these routines are also funny and touching (adding those aforementioned layers), but there is a fundamental bittersweet quality behind them.  Essentially, and this is the focus of the film’s exploration, it is good to feel comfortable around your partner to the point where you can exist in your own world together.  However, when that comfort turns to stagnation and complacency, it becomes confining and begs the question:  is it really worth it?  July hits on this theme in the first moments as Sophie and Jason share the couch together.  Jason shifts his weight and Sophie, misinterpreting the action as an indication that he will be venturing into the kitchen, asks “Can you get me a glass of water?”  Jason replies, and I’m paraphrasing and doing the film a disservice here, “I’m not moving, just shifting my weight.” 

Sophie and Jason realize this stagnation, the routine of it all, and decide to adopt a sickly cat from an animal rescue.  The cat, however, still needs another month of supervised treatment and will be released to them at the end of the month.  This gives Sophie and Jason a reason to try to test the waters.  After all, the cat will be a major responsibility, so they might as well live it up now.  They quit their jobs and try, instead of attempting to live for the future, to live in the moment.  Yet, they overcompensate.  Jason buries himself into a job selling trees door to door, killing time by meeting the people behind odd Penny Saver ads, including Joe (Joe Putterlik), a man who might be Jason’s future-self.  Sophie initially attempts to do a series of YouTube dance videos before suffering from a drought of inspiration, sending her into an affair with a much older man, Marshall (David Warshofsky), who has money and is raising a daughter as a single-father. 

When Sophie begins to tell Jason of the affair, he finds that he is literally able to stop time.  He begins a conversation with the moon (who shares Joe’s voice and knowledge), questioning whether or not he and Sophie should even stay together and if their relationship has any beneficial qualities whatsoever.  During the freeze, Sophie finds herself in an odd alternative universe, exploring the life she might have if she were to leave Jason and stay with Marshall.  When Jason finally decides to unfreeze time after being faced with the possibility that the cat waiting to be adopted will be euthanized if he allows time to progress passively, he is faced with the consequences of complacency.  Their quirks have been a crutch; they are the content-less formal manifestation of their relationship together and the film avoids the easy ending of Garden State with a love conquers all message. 

Seven years after being turned off by quirk and while in the midst of another existential crisis (this time I’ve been contemplating my fate after finishing a Ph.D. in the humanities), I found The Future incredibly funny, emotionally thoughtful, and occasionally philosophical.  July is able to cut the quirk down with an eye for the surreal – including a possessed t-shirt and a girl burying herself in a dirty hole – and the emotionally ambiguous.  Quirk, in this film at least, is not necessarily a good characteristic and it has unforeseen consequences.  I admire the film and July for finding a way to have her cake and eat it too. 

*I should note that this hostility is not directed at the man personally – I admire his nonprofit work – just his writing.