Showing Up

Director: Kelly Reichardt
Starring: Michelle Williams, Hong Chau, Maryann Plunkett, John Magaro, André Benjamin, Amanda Plummer, Matt Malloy, Judd Hirsch, James Le Gros
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

The best way of describing the down on her luck protagonist in co-writer/director Kelly Reichardt's latest, Showing Up, is as someone feeling defeated by life. This of course is Michelle Williams' stock in trade, having built her well deserved screen reputation on observant, thought provoking independent projects that rarely pull punches. Re-teaming with frequent collaborator Reichardt, it lands squarely in her wheelhouse, while also standing out as one of their more accessible ventures. And with people rather than an obviously manufactured narrative driving its plot, we get a quirky, offbeat look at the goings on in a small art community. 

While some may find it a slog or grumble it doesn't really go anywhere, it's not especially meant to, nor is the main character. Things have kind of settled into what they are, leaving us to make our own assumptions about how she's handled these challenges and what the future might hold. By the end, we sense a break in the clouds, implying that she might be in for better days than the previous ones, even as she continues to juggle a constant onslaught of personal and professional responsibilities.

Lizzy (Williams) is an artist who works as an assistant to her mother Jean (Maryann Plunkett) at the Oregon College of Art and Craft, while also preparing for an upcoming showing of her painstakingly designed clay sculptures. Lacking hot water and unable to shower for several days, Lizzy complains to  friend and landlord Jo (Hong Chau), who casually brushes off the issue to prepare for two shows of her own. 

After Jo finds an injured pigeon Lizzy's cat attacked the night before and dumps the task of taking care of it back on her, Lizzy suddenly has less time than ever to work. She also has to deal with her eccentric father Bill (Judd Hirsch) taking in a freeloading hippie couple (Amanda Plummer and Matt Malloy), as well as her reclusive, paranoid brother Sean (John Magaro). With the show rapidly approaching, more disasters accumulate, but she must somehow forge forward, making a few important discoveries in the process. 

Right away you sense the instability in Lizzy's world, specifically when it comes to the dynamic with a mom who's also her employer, making their already strained interactions even more uncomfortable. It turns out everything about Lizzy's daily routine is steeped in that kind of awkwardness, as she's seldom afforded the time or opportunity to work on her clay pieces, which ironically consist of women posed in distressed states.  

Lizzy seems happiest and most focused when sculpting, but has little interest in the promotional hustle that the self-absorbed Jo's mastered, mostly by prioritizing her needs above anyone else's. It's almost a survival mechanism she's honed, unfortunately ensuring that her one tenant won't be showering anytime soon. Wishing she could let things slide off her back as easily, Lizzy resents herself for being too nice, envious of Jo's assertiveness. But whenever she unconvincingly tries to duplicate that, it just doesn't fit, and her frustration grows. Their rocky friendship forms the crux of the film and knowing so little about the history of it only makes these interactions more intriguing, allowing the actors to fill in the rest.  

Between an estranged father letting strangers crash at his house and a mom who dismisses his son's serious mental illness as some misunderstood form of genius, Lizzy has even less luck coping with her own family. Hearing voices and digging holes in the backyard, Magaro brings an unnerving tension to these scenes as Sean, with Lizzy and her mom treading carefully throughout, fearing any move they make could push him off the deep end. 

Inhabiting a deep thinker overwhelmed by work, family and a friend who seems to be anything but, Williams physically and emotionally disappears into this morose artist to the point she's nearly unrecognizable. Everything in her posture, expressions and body language subtly suggest a woman who believes she's fallen short of the career and life she envisioned, whatever exactly that may have been.

Hong Chau expertly plays Jo's inconsiderate behavior as coming from a lack of self-awareness rather than intentional maliciousness. It's far cry from her other recently acclaimed supporting turns in The Menu and The Whale, but a welcome one in its free-spirited obtuseness. André Benjamin brings a natural charisma to Lizzy's co-worker Eric, who operates the kiln at the college. He's complimentary of her work, while proving to be a little more oblivious than she thought.     

The only real bond Lizzy has is with the injured pigeon, likely since it's the one thing she feels capable of fixing. Despite it starting as yet another example of Jo taking advantage, she still recognizes her own fault in the situation and can't bare the thought of someone as irresponsible as Jo taking care of it. The totality of Lizzy's troubles come to a head when all these issues collide at her showing, resulting in a strangely symbolic but fitting realization.

The magic of Williams' performance is how it implies that self-consciousness and insecurity isn't unique to Lizzy, but partially a bi-product of this tiny creative enclave Reichardt immerses us in. As spare and minimalist as it is, the film still manages to be humorously uplifting in just the right spots, making it an easier watch than you'd expect, mesmerizing in how it captures the rhythms of everyday life. While watching Showing Up you can probably recall half a dozen indie titles it recalls in tone, but that doesn't diminish what Reichardt and Williams pull off, or lessen our interest in spending time with these undeniably eclectic characters.