There's a high a degree of artificiality running through Miranda July's The Future, that makes the movie almost obnoxious to watch. It's ironic because you'd think a movie that paints an intimate portrait of a couple on the verge of an emotional and existential crisis would be anything but artificial. However, July takes the long way around, turning what could have been a genuine emotional catharsis into a dog and pony show for hipsters. I don't use the term "hipsters" as a vague generality, either. Certain movies, like The Future, are moving in this very specific direction - the way characters talk, the way the movie transitions from scene to scene, the way music is implemented. This kind of understated, enigmatic visage is speaking directly to a range of personas that have been forged in the fires of superficial culture and taste.
That is, ultimately, what a "hipster" amounts to in my experience. Someone who latches on to the surface level of trendy or purposefully obscure philosophical, historical, political and scientific ideas, music, movies, technology, books, language, sex, visual art, fashion, nature, etcetera, in an attempt to create a particular image for themselves, to join an "exclusive" community of the like-minded and to garner a shallow sense of self-expansion. It's not a matter of, "does this interest me?", it's more like, "does this interest me enough that I can use it to appear cultured/intelligent/cynical/compassionate/mysterious/ambitious/forthright?". Yes, that means even you're grandma, who votes democrat every time just because they're vaguely considered the "liberal" party and doesn't really care to conduct a full examination into what the party stands for, is something of a hipster.
The Future seems to cater to the interests of book hipsters in particular - the kind you'd find in any self-respecting college fiction writing program. It plays out very much like a magical realist short story, written by a junior at said college, with all the speaks-for-itself drama, dips into surrealism and esoteric dialogue that you can stomach. The couple, Sophie and Jason, seem to have a relationship built on breezy minutiae and fanciful extrapolations. They sit in their apartment, speaking about stopping time with their hands and picking out a song that reminds them of their relationship, one that would shake them out of a proposed amnesia. They talk about their mild dissatisfaction with their jobs, they touch on the pervasiveness of the internet in our lives.
These are topics that can be presented in an intriguing fashion without the feeling of put-upon curiosity that July rams down your throat. While obviously a very personal film, the writer/director assumes that her audience is on board for all the theatrics she has to offer. That presumption leads to the artificiality I spoke of before. Like a play by Tennessee Williams, the dialogue and character motivations are so stilted that you end up feeling nothing for them. Several times throughout the film, I was yelling in my brain, "NO ONE TALKS LIKE THIS UNLESS THEY'RE TRYING REAL HARD TO DO SO".
I found Sophie to be a particularly insufferable character, and it wasn't love-hate, trust me. July portrays Sophie as a mousey, impulsive 30-something who ends up cheating on Jason with an older man. She's clearly dissatisfied with their relationship, but it wasn't enough motivation to randomly jump off the deep end and into bed with a total stranger. There's a scene in the film which Sophie highlights the lack of accountability found in certain women. Laying in bed with Jason one night after she has cheated on him, sleep does not come. She is wide awake and eventually Jason wakes, feeling her heart beating faster and faster. He asks her what's wrong and she struggles to answer. She manages to say, "I'm wild", to which Jason says, "that's ok", and she replies, "no, it isn't".
This could have been a very poignant scene, but there is no gravity or sinew attached to it. Movies aren't required to answer deep sociological questions, such as the nature of a cheating heart, in the midst of their drama, but July was clearly implying negativity toward the reckless nature of some women, perhaps even herself. It definitely wasn't a neutral observation. The problem is that she never provides any results of her musings. She just leaves it at, "women do things that don't necessarily make sense and come to regret it anyway". And I just thought, fuck that. You have the opportunity to change minds or provide some insight to a certain degree and you elect to just shrug your shoulders and pull a shit-eater smile?
That's fundamentally what's wrong with The Future, it doesn't really say anything while attempting to make you feel a whole lot. Essentially, a movie hipsters can be proud to say they watched, enjoyed and thought was quietly profound. Jon Brion's calming ambient guitar score only bolsters the idea that the movie was ready-made for that guy or girl you always see wearing flannel shirts, and they won't shut the fuck up about Bon Iver or Wilco, and they're too proud about riding their bike around, and they make sure all their coffee is Fair Trade. It's a shame, though, because in the past, Miranda July turned her idiosyncrasies into enjoyable little trinkets with Me and You and Everyone We Know. There seems to be a fine line between fashion statement and storytelling, and July must be walking it constantly.
