The era of “adulting” suggests an increased pressure to grow up "the right way." And yet, with today's exponential housing costs, student loan debts with their own gravitational pull, and a general uncertainty about the future, it can be hard for anyone, no matter their age, to "do adulthood right." Where could an unsure audience member turn to feel seen on screen? Enter Frances Halladay (Greta Gerwig), the eponymous, callow protagonist of Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha. First premiering one decade ago, the film’s depiction of adulting-in-progress seems just as, if not even more, relevant for today's audiences than on its initial release. Ten years after its premiere, it is time to revisit how Frances Ha crafts an identifiable journey of stunted maturation for contemporary audiences.

As with most films, the major point of identification for audience members is with the film’s protagonist. Frances Halladay is a twenty-seven-year-old part-time dancer in New York City struggling to pay bills and find a direction in life. Though at an age where she should “have it together,” Frances seems under prepared for life on her own. She clings to her best friend, Sophie (Mickey Sumner) for comfort as she does her best to make it in New York.

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Frances’s lack of self-sufficiency is most visible in the film’s narrative trajectory. Typically, popular films center on a goal-oriented protagonist whose progression toward achieving those goals fuels the story’s momentum. Frances, even at twenty-seven, does not really have any goals other than to maybe become a full-time dancer at her local company. Even this loosely defined goal is weakened by the fact that Frances has no idea how to get to that point. She simply keeps doing what she does every day in the hope that her situation will change. There is also the matter of Frances’s dancing itself, which as depicted in the film, is not company-level. Frances is not a heroic prodigy or underappreciated hidden talent. She is simply just not very good at anything. Therefore, the film’s narrative is far more episodic in nature, meandering through the various moments where Frances briefly thinks she might have it all together. Lacking a sense of clarity about what to do, or even how to do it, Frances just tries to get by.

One way Frances does get by is through regression. Because she lacks the forward momentum that is supposed to propel someone directly into adulthood, she often backslides in order to move forward. This is first depicted in the film when Frances herself briefly returns to her parents’ home. After she is unexpectedly released from her job at the dance company, Frances goes home for the holidays. However, rather than just visiting, Frances’s return is catalyzed by her inability to afford rent. Without explicitly depicting Frances as retreating home due to her lack of independence, her return invokes the same feeling.

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Where Frances’s backtracking is even more significant, though, is in her brief return to college. After a dinner party where the other guests are talking about their high-paying jobs, children, and second homes, Frances impulsively takes a trip to Paris. She charges the entire vacation to a credit card with no means to pay it off. With a sharp increase in debt and no job, Frances returns to her alma matter to work as a resident assistant. Frances’s inability to “adult” in the real world causes her to regress to a pre-adulthood state, reminiscent of a time in life with far fewer responsibilities than her post-graduate existence. Significantly, though, this retreating from responsibility is not depicted as a failure or punishment for Frances’s decision-making. Rather, the film depicts Frances’s return to college as just a necessary part of the process of becoming an independent person. Crucially, her RA job is not her end point, and is just one backward step she must take in order to move forward. The film thus refuses to pass judgement on its leading character's actions.

Along her journey, Frances’s immaturity is mirrored in the film’s composition. The history of film suggests color cinematography as the teleological goal for the moving image. Hence, black-and-white cinematography is often only called upon in those specific instances where the monochromatic aesthetic might either give credibility to a film’s artistry (think, The Artist) or to reference a bygone era (think, The Artist again). And yet, Frances Ha, a contemporary-set, independent comedy is shot entirely in black-and-white. Invoking the evolutionary language of cinema’s move toward color film, the “not yet in color” cinematography reflects Frances’s own “not yet-ness.” The formal elements of the film thus participate in the construction of a character in progress, allowing audiences to full identity with Frances as she slowly, but surely, matures.

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The film’s ending is perhaps one of the most hopeful moments for audiences who identify with Frances. After years of couch-surfing and room-sharing, Frances finally rents her own apartment. When she goes to label her new mailbox, she realizes her full name will not fit in the label slot. She folds the paper to fit, and the label reads, “Frances Ha.” By not ending with Frances’s full name on the mailbox, the film suggests that Frances is still in the process of becoming. Even after she secures multiple jobs (an increasingly more common employment status) and is able to afford her own housing, Frances is still not complete. The film thus refuses to offer a “finish line” for Frances, and therefore, for the audiences that identify with her. Frances Ha is gently reassuring, letting audiences know it is okay to still be in process.

With a contemporary media landscape saturated with aspirational heroes and prodigies, few films leave room for those characters that let audiences know it is okay to not be that special. Frances Ha is one of the most significant depictions of stunted maturation as the film’s narrative and composition work to position the film’s protagonist as a relatable figure of adulting-in-progress. For audiences looking for a film that serves no judgement on not "doing adulthood right," it is time to take a journey with Frances Halladay.