An Ode to the Greenbergs

I know this is a few months late, but I wanted to comment on why exactly I love Greenberg – and the real life counterparts just like him I encounter every day.

Greenberg premiered earlier this summer to fairly good reviews, as Noah Baumbach movies usually do. Also much like other Baumbach movies, established older actors got the chance to broaden their resume by playing someone superficially unlikeable, all while expanding the budding career of a younger costar (i.e. Linney and Daniels with Jesse Eisenberg for Squid and the Whale; Nicole Kidman with Zane Pais in Margot at the Wedding).

It seems to me, at least with my two Baumbach experiences (I have yet to actually see Squid,I know. I know), that the realism in his movies is expressed through the caustic cynicism of his protagonists – if you can even call them that. Margot, played perfectly by Nicole Kidman, is a successful and well received author and yet seems to only find satisfaction in her personal life when she brings down and subtly destroys the lives around her. She criticizes her son left and right, and manages to dismantle her sister’s engagement. Margot, though, is much more unlikeable than Greenberg, in my opinion. Her motives seem selfish, childish, and purely motivated by a lack of control for her own life. That being said, she is still an exquisite character, and I am sure I have met – and may have even been – a few Margots in my life.

Now, on to Greenberg. Like Margot, it seems most of his interactions with everyone from complete strangers to his closest friends are full of sarcasm, cynicism, and a biting attitude. Even his relationship with the tragically sweet Florence, played by Greta Gerwig, comprises mostly (at least as we see it in the film) with awkward advances and startlingly unreasonable outbursts. What makes, at least in my opinion, this character at least fractionally more likable than Margot is the fact that his inappropriate and uneasy personality stems ultimately from loneliness and a lacking of basic social skills. You can even literally blame it on the weather. Greenberg has come to L.A. from New York, and watching this fish out of water reminds me of Woody Allen’s L.A. cruising in Annie Hall; he swerves, he causes general chaos, but not out of any pure malice, just a lack of nerves.

I like Greenberg because he reminds me of two kinds of people: myself, and the men I choose to surround myself with. Out of every 5 male friends, maybe 1 is remotely optimistic. My father, for one, and my friend Bob, the children’s librarian. Most others, however, brood in varying stages of disenchantment and complacency. Even if they have something nice to say about something or someone, they usually highlight the unpleasant, the annoying, and the most ugly of features, and not always in the most eloquent or appropriate manner. They are born and raised in Austin, never want to leave, but constantly complain about the ever changing skyline or gentrificating hipsters that cloud their city like smog in Detroit (I have more on this, but for another post). They complain about having nothing to do, but when you mention some form of social activity outside of Facebook they complain about driving and parking and the hipsters that cloud their city like the permafrost over Alaskan tundra. They complain about never having a girlfriend but in the next breath say something off-putting and sexist, and defend it to their death.

They also say biting comments because they don’t know better, because they feel out of place, because they’re nervous and excited but somehow can only express that through lashing out like a chained dog. My friends aren’t violent, and they never shout (they’d never get away with it), but I can tell they’re not always really talking about what they’re talking about, much like Greenberg.

One scene in particular I connect with Greenberg. He’s eating dinner with his old band mate and current flame, and much to his disdain the friggin waiters bring some dumb cake out and sing to him. In an act of total awkward frustration and embarrassment, he shouts to his friend “Sit on my cock!” and leaves. The restaurant is silent, and his friend is visibly hurt. Later, Greenberg and Florcence laugh about it, realizing the true ridiculousness of the event. I had an extremely similar experience at a particular mall diner with a group of friends in junior high. It was my birthday, or at least some day close, and despite my adamant protesting my friends thought it would be a great idea if they got the whole damn place to friggin sing to me. I sulked. I whined. I was a frakin brat about it, and snapped at my friends in public. They weren’t trying to be mean, just festive, and eventually I felt like crap for how I acted but we were able to laugh it off later on. They understood how uncomfortable it was for me, how I don’t like being put on the spot, and how, when I am, I either freeze up or lash out.

It’s part of humanity, our imperfect way of resolving unpleasant and graceless moments with harsh emotional frustration. We’re all just waiting for our Florence to come along and sweetly sweep us off our feet with her delicate half-smile and endless understanding.