Ageing can be a very depressing process. One of the few turmoils that links all human beings, it constantly forces one to re-evaluate their relevance and reconcile the world passing them by. In addition to its visual signifiers, it’s a commonly remarked upon ironic and self-deprecating observation when brought into stark relief. Who among us hasn’t lamented feeling “so old” when confronted with the age of a pop cultural relic we were alive to witness first-hand or a person gaining maturity who’s much younger than ourselves? Personally I still find it surreal that the current crop of college-age young adults weren’t alive for any part of the 1990s or conversely that Ariana Grande for instance was a pop culture figure one could grow up with. But ageing wasn’t always a shorthand for disappointment, redundancy, and death, there was a time when it was an adventure; when, through good times and bad, it was a journey of discovery that yielded limitless possibilities. It was called growing up, and in fact it’s what many of us as adults are still doing.
Growing up is not only the primary theme but the central architecture of Richard Linklater’s 2014 magnum opus Boyhood. Most coming-of-age movies deal with this in one regard or another, but Boyhood is by far the most literal in its expression of this gradual physical and mental maturation experience. One of the most ambitious undertakings in American cinema since the silent age, Boyhood was filmed intermittently over a twelve year period from 2001 to 2013 to accurately chart the adolescence of a middle-American kid. It’s very experimental, certainly as far as relatively high profile films go, and because of that it’s incredibly easy to dismiss Boyhood as a gimmick movie; as though Linklater knew all along the project was going to come to fruition, that it would work, and that it would become one of the major awards winners of 2014. I contend the backlash over Boyhood wouldn’t be so strong if it hadn’t been emphasized as a miracle movie. Not to downplay how
unique and impressive a cinematic feat it is, but the notion behind
Boyhood isn’t unprecedented. The ITV Up series of documentary specials has followed the same group of children every seven years since 1964; and in the realm of fiction both Francois Truffault and Lindsay Anderson made film series’ chronicling the lives of a particular character played by the same actor over a number of years–Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Leaud) and Mick Travis (Malcolm McDowell) respectively. The common ancestor to most of these is the literary Bildungsroman genre of the 18th and 19th centuries, of which Dickens’ David Copperfield is probably the greatest example. Like Boyhood, David Copperfield follows the life of its title character through his formative years into early adulthood. But David Copperfield deals with the major dramatic events of its title characters’ life; David Copperfield has overarching conflicts, it has narrative trajectory. Boyhood doesn’t.
Not only does Boyhood have no narrative trajectory, it goes out of its way to avoid one at every opportunity. That kind of thing doesn’t endear it to general audiences who are used to movies having plot –something even most of the aforementioned examples have. But to expect plot out of Boyhood is to misunderstand its’ very purpose. It’s not a movie about a childhood, it’s a movie designed to evoke childhood, explore the intricacies of growing up, and meditate on the transience of youth. And it does this not through major dramatic developments (for the most part), but through the little things, the moments that would hold a particular meaning and lasting significance against the larger mosaic of ones’ life. Linklater himself wanted the events depicted to feel like the memories that would come to mind at the end of the film, as his central character Mason reflects on his childhood, trying to figure out at the start of college who he is, as many of us have attempted, by reflecting on his life up to that point. Which is incredibly true to how our memories operate. Sure, the occasional big change or transitory event or major family holiday will stick out, but often the important moments to us are the ones that were much more personal: a single conversation with a parent, a particular instance of clarity, or a social event that felt really important at the time. And it’s these sort of scenes that make up Boyhood, seamlessly communicating Masons’ growth through otherwise inconsequential pictures of his life.
And not only are we privy to Mason’s evolution through these, but that of his family. His mother, father, and sister grow alongside him and such personal moments have a heavy impact on them as well. Olivia starts from a place of single motherhood, not confident and under emotional pressure, but grows through hardships of abuse and financial woes, persisting in her career until she’s become a modestly successful psychology professor. Mason Sr. is initially an irresponsible and absent slacker, hopelessly clinging onto his aspirations of being a musician; but gradually realizes the necessity to move on from that dream, getting a steady job, eventually remarrying and having another child, and becoming a greater model of fatherhood. And Samantha’s trajectory in some ways mirrors Masons, growing up alongside him and experiencing a similar adolescence, but with goals that are less clear.
However like many siblings of close ages, Samantha and Mason realize they have more in common as they mature, even if they don’t acknowledge it. There’s a trust they share that they don’t have with their parents. And all of these changes are expressed through very organic means that don’t draw attention to themselves. We never see Olivia graduate, but we see her as a teacher to a class that seems to respect her. We never see Mason Sr. have that moment of realization in the futility of his ambitions and lifestyle, but we see him offhandedly talk to Mason about the insurance firm he’s started working at. We never see Samantha’s application to college, but she’s there at the University of Texas in Austin to welcome Mason when he goes to visit with his girlfriend (during which Linklater can’t help but show off the prettiness of the city he loves).
For as much as Mason is the central figure of the story he’s also our audience surrogate through whom we’re allowed to bear witness to the development of this family. And in so doing, we’re invited to be a part of the family, and for three hours to share in their experiences and emotions. Nowhere is this better epitomized than
in Mason’s last scenes with his parents, especially Olivia, when she breaks down at the thought of becoming an empty nester.
“I thought there’d be more” she cries through tears and frustration. Much has been said by myself and other critics how no movie better showcases adolescence, but it’s not emphasized enough how no movie better captures the blink of an eye experience of watching ones’ children grow up.
But why do all this? Why depict a life on film? And not even a real life, but a preordained, if spontaneously scripted life. Well, why do we make movies? I think chief among films’ primary purposes is to explore the human experience and teach us about ourselves, as it is with art and literature -which is very grandiloquent I know. Boyhood presents a slice of life, it captures an authentic portrait of childhood and youth with such passion and elegance it provokes its audience to reflect. You remember being Masons’ age across the film, and while your experiences may be different, you can relate to the way they influence how he feels and sees the world. It’s a film that challenges its audience to be introspective. Much like how Linklater saw the idea of the film, the viewer too is obliged to look back on their formative years and ponder the experiences, environments, and moments that made them who they are. After all, as Nicole pointed out, it’s the moments that seize us.
That kind of philosophizing sentiment is perfectly in line with Linklater’s cinematic (dare I say auteurist) identity, as anyone who’s seen Slacker, the Before trilogy, or especially Waking Life could tell you. His fascination with life in the moment is something that recurs throughout his films, whether in subtle ways as in the Before trilogy or Dazed and Confused or directly, as in Waking Life where his pinball player character muses “there’s only one instant, and it’s right now, and it’s eternity.” It’s probably why he’s so interested in experimenting with time in his films, whether by condensing movies into a single day (Slacker, Before Sunrise), night (Dazed and Confused), in real-time (Before Sunset, Tape) or across a dozen years. Living in the moment is certainly a central motif of Boyhood, and in filming the movie the way he did that’s exactly what Linklater was striving to capture. In addition to the scenes that grow Mason’s character and that of his family, there are plenty of glimpses of Mason’s childhood in abstract: looking at a pilfered pornographic magazine, riding his bike around the neighbourhood with his friends, waiting up a night for the release of the latest Harry Potter book -a fond
memory for my generation specifically. More than a nifty filmmaking idea and a way to capture reality, Boyhood is a means of preserving moments, moments that would otherwise be unremarked upon or forgotten; the same kind of moments referred to as “holy” by Caveh Zahedi interpreting Andre Bazin in Waking Life. Linklater heavily believes in the power of ‘Holy Moments’ to transcend narrative in cinema, and in Boyhood he uses them to express varied facets and tokens of coming-of-age. He argues that those moments are as important as the greater dramatic changes and choices, not only to individual development but to life itself.
The life on display in Boyhood though is just a life, and should be recognized as such; and not as a ubiquitous representation of life on a completely general scale. Though I don’t think it consciously claims to be universal, it was appraised as such by many (including myself) upon first seeing it. But of course it very much speaks most resonantly to the North American middle-class suburban white heterosexual experience -which is no surprise as that happens to have been Linklater’s experience, as it happens to have been my experience. I’m of the same generation as Mason, I recognize a lot of the cultural markers that show up through his childhood as having been presences in mine; I can distinctly relate to some of the experiences, conversations, pressures, and environments, not to mention fashion choices (his look at fifteen is pretty identical to my brothers’ at that age). So obviously this is a movie that hits me hard in terms of nostalgia, the fact it’s a living time capsule of every year from 2001 to 2013 only cementing that impact. But I understand that people in other parts of the world, of other ages, economic situations, races, sexualities, or gender identities
aren’t going to connect with it like I do. Still, I believe that
Boyhood does speak in some small way to everyone. Adolescence is universal and while the circumstances vary, the feelings are often the same. The joys and sorrows, confusion and doubt, adjustments to physical and situational changes, those are things we can all relate to, in addition to the contemplation the film asks of us. And Boyhood, if it didn’t directly pave the way, it at least allowed the space to be opened for thoughtful and diverse coming-of-age movies since like Moonlight and Lady Bird, each with their own interesting explorations of the passage of time.
In the pantheon of great coming-of-age stories in cinema, Boyhood is destined to be a titan. Many would argue it already is; not through its story or characters but through its audacity to reject plot, its fulfilled ambition, and the seamless care with which it understands and translates boyhood -childhood itself (the only movie to effectively do so since its most clear progenitor, Satyajit Ray’s masterful Apu Trilogy). It’s a movie that urges us to think about our personal journeys, to reflect on how we got to where we are and what got us there, to contextualize our youths as less a predestined direction motivated by our goals and personalities as much as a tapestry of moments that stood out and shaped us in specific and significant ways, and to come to terms with the fact that physical and mental maturation aside, we’ve still got a lot of growing up to do.
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