‘Showing Up’ Review: Kelly Reichardt's Latest Illustrates Artist Struggle Realness
Showing Up
R: For brief graphic nudity
Runtime: 1 Hour and 48 Minutes
Production Companies: FilmScience
Distributor: A24
Director: Kelly Reichardt
Writers: Jon Raymond, Kelly Reichardt
Cast: Michelle Williams, Hong Chau, Maryann Plunkett, John Magaro, André Benjamin, James Le Gros, Judd Hirsch
Release Date: April 7, 2023
In Theaters Only
Beloved indie darling Kelly Reichardt’s works are hit or miss for me. It’s usually the latter. Early-day critic Rendy was bored by Meek’s Cutoff but liked Wendy and Lucy. I have a blindspot with Certain Women but was lukewarm with First Cow. Before seeing her fourth collaborative project with actress BFF Michelle Williams, Showing Up, during last year’s NYFF, I was curious about where it would land. It brings me so much pleasure to admit this is, by far, my favorite Reichardt film and one of my favorites of 2023. I should do a retrospective of her work and rethink my stance on her flicks.
Set in Portland, introverted local sculptor Lizzy (Michelle Williams) tries to make ends meet in her daily life as her gallery show date approaches. She spends her days working an office job with her mom Jean (Maryann Plunkett), at an art college where passionate young students run wild, creating anything their hearts desire. At home, Lizzy must put up with extroverted art colleague/landlord Jo (Hong Chau), who is moderately more successful in the same art field and procrastinates to turn Lizzy’s hot water on. As Lizzy’s show gallery opening approaches, her everyday tasks grow unexpectedly, including dealing with her self-obsessed retired pottery father Bill’s (Judd Hirsch) oddities, her frenzied brother Sean’s (John Magaro) unpredictable behavior, finding a place to take a hot shower, and nursing an injured pigeon back to health with Jo.
Kelly Reichardt’s catalog consists of naturalistic character portraits of ordinary people making ends meet. Despite how I feel about her filmography, there’s something magnetic about how she captures everyday life’s authenticity through her enticing characters. No matter what period her tales are set during, Reichardt and co-screenwriter Jon Raymond form complex leads whose snapshots of life are either immersive or not. I can usually only identify with her lead characters, though I hardly get swept up by them. My tune changed with her latest subject, Lizzy.
Lizzy is the modern-day introvert (with a capital I) artist. The moment she’s introduced, surrounded by her handcrafted miniature sculptures and her cute tabby cat, I immediately clocked what kind of artist she is: one who prefers to be left alone instead of dealing with others. Lizzy is simultaneously determined and exhausted. You can’t tell if she derives joy from it or not. Yet at the same time, you assume that she once did.
When she’s at work, Lizzy is disgruntled by the faux niceness her co-workers exhibit about art, using Mad Libs adjectives to describe experimental pieces. It’s usually free-spirited ceramist Eric (André Benjamin) or, more frustratingly, her mother, Jean, who often speaks highly of Jo.
Lizzy mocks those who bear a wide-eyed view of art but speak of it with ambiguity. She might sound like a jerk, but Reichardt establishes her within this artist community, and it’s clear that this has been her home forever. Her sense of wonder is now jadedness, but damn it, she’s the best at what she does, so it feels warranted and sometimes cathartic. Her thoughts about art reflect my feelings on the film criticism and comedy communities, where my drive is still there because I love the art form, but the people within it are draining. Sadly, you have to rely on those same people to make you feel visible, especially when you pour your soul into the art you’re making.
Lizzy’s personality comes alive when interacting with her rival/landlord Jo, whom she’s in constant conflict with. Jo's outgoing personality trumps Lizzy’s efforts to get through the day without extra tasks. Jo’s energy is admirable, but she’s one of the worst landlords depicted in a film since Spider-Man’s Mr. Ditkovich. She will deliberately put off her landlord objectives—specifically fixing Lizzy’s hot water situation—to focus on her gallery showings. To make matters worse, she springs an injured pigeon on Lizzy to tend to. Poor submissive Lizzy hardly confronts the situations she’s thrust in. It’s base-level introvert vs. extrovert artist psychological warfare, but it makes for hilarious dry comedy. Reichardt goes the extra mile in contrasting their work techniques and lifestyles while comparing the shared dedication to their art.
This kind of depressed artist portrait isn’t complete without delving into the dysfunctional family dynamic. If feeling shafted by her mom wasn’t enough, Lizzy’s daily routine includes walking eggshells around her dad Bill, who is so self-obsessed about his once-great pottery career and makes all of Lizzy’s work revert to him. Then, she has to be responsible for her mentally unstable brother’s antics when neither parent can check on him. Once it’s pieced that her parents are divorced, and rightfully so, you dread the moment when they have to occupy the same room together. As the issues bubble up, the film becomes more anxiety-inducing than A24’s other April release, Beau is Afraid.
The Oregon College of Art and Craft (which closed down in 2019 but was shot at) setting, lets the portrait play like a tribute to artists of all ages.. The establishing shots of the art college are brief snapshots of young students passionately experimenting with various art forms. Cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt’s sweeping tracking shots of artists expressing themselves in the halls, studio rooms, and outdoors adds an immersive fragrance to the grounded atmosphere. Those fleeting moments beautifully juxtapose the veteran artists whose passion might’ve fizzled due to the responsibilities of their adult lives. It’s one of those true sentiments about being an artist that remains underrepresented in film.
Michelle Williams delivers a phenomenal performance, perfectly encapsulating the traits of the depressed introverted artist. I felt so seen by her slow, low energetic movement and deadpanned line readings. Hong Chau is equally incredible as Jo. Both performers skillfully display nuance and complexity in their introvert vs. extrovert dynamic as each other’s foil. Yeah, I talked myself into doing that Kelly Reichardt retrospective because this is one of my favorite Williams performances.
Raymond and Reichardt’s worldbuilding and character writing are refreshingly dimensional. As minimalist as the film might seem, Showing Up speaks truth to the weight of being an artist pursuing their passion and the exhausting workload we all face just to create something. For once, it’s not about the frustrating process but the obstacles, whether caring for a pigeon or micromanaging your interpersonal relationships. While Murphy’s Law may be in effect during your journey, there’s a sense of cathartic release when your work makes it out into the ether.
Kelly Reichardt’s Showing Up is a masterpiece bearing honesty about the lives we lead in our everyday pursuit of making whatever art we desire without pretension or a romanticized lens. It’s a timely humanistic portrait of artists of all ages and personalities dedicated to their craft amid life’s wacky tribulations.
