Film Review: Shirley (2020)
Josephine Decker’s Shirley throws a lot of interesting concepts at the wall, but unfortunately, none of them stick. It’s one of those films that arrogantly assumes we’ll adore it based solely on its edgy assertions and presentation, but lacks the fundamentals to keep the story together or interesting. The premise is there, and so is the acting, but each time Decker stumbles on an interesting plotline to explore, it’s abandoned as quickly as it appears. Shirley is so full of threads to pull that if just one of them had been followed, I’d likely be singing a very different tune.
Putting this aside for a moment, what I really can’t shake about Shirley is that it reminds me of far too many movies I saw in the ‘90s marketed towards angsty teens and young adults who were so entrenched in their own apathy that they’d shell out for anything that claimed to “speak for their generation.” These movies – of which I coerced into watching far too many of – always shone with a keen veneer of understanding and rebellious spirit, but in the end, were nothing more than cash grabs for studios and advertisers. Artistically, GenX was the most duped generation in history. Everything produced in our youth was guided by market strategies and demographic analysis, not artistic merit.
This realization – admittedly a bit dramatic – has a firm hold over my opinion of Shirley. Decker and cinematographer Sturla Brandth Grøvlen have chosen to wash their film in a cold shower of ‘90s music video clichés and techniques that, to me, scream inauthenticity. Making your film look like R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion” isn’t fashionable, it’s tired. Factoring in the above-mentioned lack of substantial idea development, and I can’t help but feel like a 16-year-old me trying to understand why all my friends can’t see that movies like Singles or The Craftaren’t deep, but shameless. I say none of this with deliberate pretension, but as a grump of the highest order, I stand by my indignation.
A fictionalized exploration into the tumultuous life of Shirley Jackson (one of my favorite authors!), her creative process, and the idiosyncrasies of post-war gender politics – and starring Elisabeth Moss and Michael Stuhlbarg – could have easily been a home run for me, but instead goes nowhere. The more Shirley flirts with moments of potential, the more frustrating the experience becomes when we are inevitably pulled back into disappointment.
