emilyteachout

This is my review of Young Adult, which I can confidently say has been my favorite film of the 2011-2012 winter movie season, tied with Melancholia.

Here’s the problem with Young Adult. Yes, I loved it. But it completely ruins my fantasies of an Emily Teachout biopic, because protagonist Mavis Gary is basically me. Me now, and quite possibly me later (she’s 37). A movie about my life would just be a cheap remake set in Seattle. From the very first part of the opening scene, my viewing companion and oldest friend, Dayna, was like “Yes… YES… THIS IS YOU.” We were cracking up in the theatre and generally being very obnoxious, but we couldn’t help it. It’s true. Everything!

Mavis wakes up in full morning-after attire; clothed, face down in a tousled bed, while E! reality show Kendra blares on a TV in the background. Sound familiar? Oh, maybe because that’s how I wake up most mornings. (And let’s not talk about how much Kendra I watch on a weekly basis, yikes.)

Mavis trudges into the liquor bottle-strewn kitchen and downs a refreshing morning Diet Coke. We can all recognize the abundance of times that my only breakfast is a cold, calming, carbonated tsunami of DC down my throat.

Mavis, a writer, sits down and opens her laptop. She struggles to write even one page. Although a deadline is looming over her head, she is immediately distracted by multiple windows of internet trash, including an email inbox full of designer shopping newsletters and stupid dating websites. Um, welcome to my day-to-day.

Mavis complains to her friends about the lives and triumphs of people from her past, even though she is much more successful on paper than most of the people she went to school with. She sits in bars and talks to dudes even though she has no interest in what they’re saying; she simply downs vodka while pretending to care about their philanthropic trips to third world countries. This is my social life in a nutshell.

I already feel slightly bad about this “lifestyle” and I am only 25. (Quickly approaching 26, though. Noooo!) Mavis is 37. In ten-ish years, am I still going to be a Young Adult?

Dayna assured me that while I have many Mavis-like habits (unapologetically wearing Uggs, being a bad driver, lazily trashing a hotel room for no reason, drinking Makers Mark like it’s water), I would never stoop to the appalling depths she does in the latter part of the movie. Honestly, though, Dayna’s assessment of my self control might be wrong.  I have said, done, and thought some pretty horrible things in my time. I think we all have. The more I live, the more I realize: you can hope for the best, but you really can’t rule anything out.

Sure, I was struck by the character of Mavis not only because of our amusing, superficial similarities, but it’s not only that; I empathize. There is a conversation between so-called successful, glamourous Mavis and plain small-town girl Sandra:

I don’t think any scene in a movie has rang more true for me. Many reviewers find Mavis to be a contemptible character. I can definitely see why she’s unlikeable. But I like her. I get it. It’s really hard to grow up. It’s really hard to find and accept true happiness. Like Mavis, I’m not into babies, I’m not into suburban satisfaction, yet I’m weirdly envious and involved and yes, I’ll say it, jealous(!) of people who are fulfilled by those social mores. I know I’m highly intelligent, but at the same time I like highly superficial things. I will always enjoy Diet Coke and E! channel and eschew strip malls and Pier One decor.

It’s scary. I don’t want to end up like Mavis when I’m in my late 30s. But I don’t want to end up like her innocent nemesis, sweet suburban mother Beth, either. I guess all I can hope for is that my eventual biopic won’t turn out to be a Young Adult remake after all, because I will make different and better decisions that land me somewhere in the middle of the two women’s lives.

In the meantime, while the world waits to see how my life ends up, why don’t you all treat yourself to the movies! Go see Young Adult. A+.