Mark Reviews Movies: SAINT FRANCES

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Review by Mark Dujsik | February 27, 2020

Writer/star Kelly O'Sullivan's screenplay for Saint Frances is a bit messy, if only because it attempts to examine and address so many ideas, characters, and sentiments. One could look at the messiness, though, as a reflection of the film's main character: a 34-year-old woman who didn't finish college, works as a server at a restaurant, has no clue about any kind of career beyond her current job, doesn't know if she wants a family, is hesitant about getting into any kind of serious romantic relationship, casually lies about her life to almost anyone who asks, and just, well, doesn't seem happy about anything.

The life of Bridget (O'Sullivan) is messy—a mess, really. She went to college (specifically Northwestern University, where part of the story unfolds in the surrounding neighborhood) and was considered something of a promising poet—a modern-day Sylvia Plath, one former classmate says, because of the writing and, as Bridget adds in the dark humor that defines her personality, because of the depression. We never really learn what happened to Bridget to put her into—as she probably would be the first to admit—such a rut, but it doesn't really matter. When you're in it, the how, when, and why are the least of one's concerns.

That's where Bridget's story begins—in a rut and fully aware of it. She's at a party, talking to some guy who brags about his well-paying job and everything else that's great in his life. It's Bridget's turn to contribute, and she can only offer that she's a waitress. That ends the conversation, but she quickly meets Jace (Max Lipchitz), a guy who's about a decade her junior.

He's a waiter, and that's enough for Bridget. They go back to her place, and in the morning, she discovers that her period started at some point during the previous night's activities. It is, as we already have come and continue to expect about Bridget's life, a mess, but the two can laugh about it, at least.

There are multitudes of ways in which O'Sullivan could have written and performed this particular character, who is nobody unique in the world or within the scope of such comedies of the relatively mundane—about real people dealing with real issues and real challenges. She has, though, embraced the one that almost immediately gets us on Bridget's side. From that first encounter with the successful stranger, we can sense Bridget's embarrassment, self-awareness, and, most importantly, her sense of humor.

Being miserable at certain stages of life (or many stages, as it seems to be the case with this character) is just part of living. To approach these stages with humor, even of the nihilistic and self-deprecating varieties, is a choice, though. Bridget and, by extension, O'Sullivan have chosen wisely, indeed.

The story follows Bridget as she makes a bigger mess of her life and, with the help of people she wouldn't have expected or hasn't even met by the time this story begins, learns to accept that messiness is just part of the human experience. To be sure, it's a funny film, bolstered by the humor of the character and O'Sullivan's charismatic performance, but it's also one with an unexpected degree of compassion, which slowly reveals itself as Bridget discovers she isn't the only one with a messy life.

Of key importance (beyond Jace, whose presence becomes an afterthought later, as if O'Sullivan realized there were better angles from which to approach this story and more engaging characters to explore) is a well-to-do family. Maya (Charin Alvarez) and Annie (Lily Mojekwu) are married and mothers to 6-year-old Frances (Ramona Edith-Williams, a natural) and a newborn baby.

While the recently pregnant Maya cares for the baby and Annie works, the couple needs a nanny for Frances. They hire Bridget, who's in it for the money, but now, she has to take care of a kid, even though she doesn't particularly like children and is quick to decide to terminate an accidental pregnancy after her (not-so-effective in theory or practice) birth-control method fails.

As the title suggests, Frances, a precocious (but in that endearing and adorable way) kid, is the most constant presence in Bridget's story. She tests her new nanny at first, and Bridget is more than happy to shake the girl's stroller a little too hard when she becomes annoyed. They gradually bond, though, over Joan Jett (A subplot involving the girl's guitar teacher, to whom Bridget is attracted, goes nowhere) and lots of daily outings. Meanwhile, it becomes clear that the relationship between Maya, who's suffering from post-partum depression and is ashamed to talk about it, and Annie, who's the stricter and more suspicious of the couple, is on the brink of something bad.

We're engaged in Bridget's trials and gradual growth throughout the film, but as the screenplay narrows its focus to the family, the film becomes a genuinely affecting and intimate examination of the specific challenges that women face daily and throughout their lives. This is a film with something to say, but its way of saying those things is what's most striking. It's invested in these characters and their struggles—enough that O'Sullivan allows these women to talk openly and honestly about those issues.

Getting to the talking, though, is the real challenge, and if there's a simple message in Saint Frances, it's that open and honest conversation, laughter, and empathy are as necessary as messiness is inevitable. Such things might not solve problems, but they're the best start. For a character like Bridget, a start is just what she needs.

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