Showing Up

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love slow cinema. Sure, there’s plenty which don’t particularly work for me. Chronic comes to mind as one I disliked so much that my wife and I still use it as a barometer of bad movies. But when done well, they hold such power. They cast a spell on you, lulling you into a state of relaxation, hypnotizing you with their calm, deliberate approach. And at the same time, they reward patience as well as taking in every inch of the frame, to really appreciate all the care and set design. They force your mind to really contemplate all the small things happening and the impact it all has on the characters. Somewhat paradoxically, despite how little “happens”, they’re not movies you can appreciate unless you give them your full attention.

Showing Up is another wonderful example of it being done well. We find Lizzy (Michelle Williams) preparing for her gallery show, trying to push through life’s distractions to complete her sculptures. She must contend with having been without hot water for weeks, caring for a pigeon belonging to her landlord Jo (Hong Chau), as well as checking in on her brother Sean (John Magaro) who has unspecified mental health problems. Not to mention the obstacles inherent in the process: work and glazing the clay on campus and determining how much cheese is the right amount of cheese.

And that’s kind of it. It’s an incredibly small, intimate story, told painstakingly and very deliberately. There aren’t any stakes, not really. Except this is what slow cinema excels at. By spending so much time with Lizzy, we really get inside her head, understand her outlook, and come to learn just how much this show means to her. As such, we care about its outcome, and all the details she obsesses over feel appropriate. Once you’re in, you don’t really question her frustration with all that gets in her way. Instead, you feel for her.

Especially because Lizzy is the type of person who can’t help but care. Her demeanor is detached and dour, but much of what derails her are her efforts to do the right thing and clean up after another’s mess. Which contrasts directly with someone like Jo, who seems to go out of her way to present a caring face, but whose true nature is much too self-centered to put in the work for any extended period.

The pigeon enters their lives because Lizzy’s cat mauls it one night. Lizzy is horrified, but at the same time, it’s a pigeon. So she just puts it outside her apartment, and moves on. Until Jo finds it, and shows him to Lizzy, all the while cooing over him. Of course, since Jo is also preparing for a gallery show, she's out for the day, and leaves the bird with Lizzy. She pays no mind that Lizzy explicitly took the day off to focus on finishing up her own work: Jo’s problem is immediately foisted off on Lizzy. And Lizzy doesn’t half-ass it: as soon as she notices the bird is breathing heavy and disturbed, she takes him to the vet. As a result of the vet’s recommendation, she moves her entire work station out of the basement, to a part of her apartment which isn’t so cold. She upends her entire day for the bird. And then Jo comes back late, and was clearly in no rush and doesn’t seem to understand why Lizzy’s making such a big deal out of it.

Such is the theme of Lizzy’s life. Whether or not she wants to, she puts in a ton of emotional effort, and then has to endure people dismissing it as no big deal and getting annoyed with her for bringing it up. No wonder she comes across as so bitter. Thus is the cost of emotional labor in a situation, and how it’s further intensified where no one sees fit to help reduce it. Which makes for a wonderful few moments at the end of the film where we see the fruits of Lizzy’s various efforts pay off. Other people in her life might not understand, and she doesn’t really react in a way that belies how she feels about them. But we have all the info to make the connections Reichardt wants us to.

Something about the score really helps to tie everything together nicely. It’s small and unobtrusive, and used sparingly throughout. But the use of plinky synthesizer notes, and the way the opening and closing track crescendos from these small bits to a fuller but still quite restrained sound all slides seamlessly into the world.

I’ve so far missed out on mentioning the comedy present throughout. The presence of someone like Lizzy in a somewhat absurd world of fine art makes for some great contrasts. Not to mention some straight up poking fun at the art and grad school world: “Advanced Movement Studies”. The sense of humor is calm and comes from the way people interact with the world and with Lizzy. So there aren’t any bust a gut hilarious points, but I dare you to not at least chuckle when Lizzy is fussing over the exact amount of cheese which should be put out at her show, and then scolding Sean for eating too much of it.

Both Michelle Williams and Hong Chau are doing excellent work here, and really help to give the film life. And the supporting cast all hits a similar tone, so no one and nothing really feels out of place. And apparently, André 3000 has been more seriously getting into acting, given his presence here as Eric and previously in White Noise. He’s pretty good! Nothing incredible, and the role is small, but he matches the film well.

This isn’t going to be for everyone, as I implied up top. Its pace will bore some people and cause them to not pay attention, which will further drive them away. But there’s a lot of great stuff here if you’re patient. It’s an incredibly rewarding experience, and I must now seek out more of Reichardt’s films.