Fran likes her job.
That’s what she says, anyway, when people ask her what she enjoys. Watching her at work, it’s difficult to know if that’s true; we see her staring blankly at her computer, entering numbers into spreadsheets and doing her best to avoid eye contact with her coworkers (not that that’s something many of them spend much time pursuing). When pressed on hobbies, she weakly offers, “I cook sometimes,” but the only thing we ever see her prepare for herself is a formless gray mass which she removes from the microwave and buries in a mountain of cottage cheese. It’s not clear whether these are lies she tells to outsiders, or if she simply hasn’t given enough thought to her daily routine to firmly land on things like “likes” or “dislikes.” The only glimpses we get into Fran’s inner life are her fantasies, which are presented in surreal tableaux: Fran alone in an empty office with a boa constrictor, Fran attracting insects lying on a grassy forest floor, Fran being lifted by her neck on the crane outside her office window.
When I first watched the trailer for Rachel Lambert’s Sometimes I Think About Dying, I was struck by an unshakeable sense of deja vu, as if I had somehow already seen this new movie before. As it turns out, I had, in a manner of speaking: it is an expanded adaptation of a short film directed by co-writer Stefanie Abel Horowitz, which I viewed as part of the BUFF-O-Ween mini-festival back in 2019 (the short, in turn, was inspired by the play Killers by Kevin Armento, which I have not seen or read, but which sounds very different from either filmed version). The feature, like the short, is a study in shyness and social anxiety, and while it’s not always easy to watch, it ultimately reveals itself as something rather lovely.
The most striking difference between the two versions of the film is how it sounds. Where the short is narrated by Fran– her intrusive thoughts more or less serving as the film’s score– this Fran, played by Daisy Ridley, shuts us out. Here, the audience plays the intimate observer, watching Fran fidget and dart around human interaction, only being brought in by her periodic morbid fantasies (which are also played in silence). It’s a bold gambit, transforming what was essentially a writer’s piece into an actor’s showcase. Fortunately, Ridley is remarkable in the role, and ably communicates Fran’s awkwardness and anxieties through pure physicality. Even though we can’t hear her internal monologue, we can tell when her defenses drop a fraction of an inch and anxiety gives way to curiosity from the way her brow almost imperceptibly unfurrows. Ridley does a lot of face acting, and perhaps even more through body language; I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone communicate so much through the angle of their elbow jutting out from their desk. It’s a terrific performance, all the more welcome from an actor crawling from the wreckage of the most recent Star Wars trilogy (fingers crossed Kelly Marie Tran gets her shot next).
In both films, Fran is brought out of her shell (or at least, coaxed near the entrance of her shell) by a kind coworker named Robert who, inexplicably to Fran, takes an interest in getting to know her. This film’s Robert, played by Dave Merheje, is a laid-back film buff, maybe not dramatically less square than his office mates, but with enough of a coy sense of irony to attract a glimmer of Fran’s attention. His taste in movies appears to run toward the indie/arthouse vein (the two share a moment when he invites Fran to select a CD from his collection and she puts on the Blue Velvet soundtrack, of all things). This perhaps explains what draws him toward this strange, walled-off woman; like his favorite movies, she represents a mystery to solve. Fran, for her part, simply seems fascinated to be invited in by anyone; when Robert takes her home, one gets the sense that this is the first time she has set foot in another adult human’s residence, and is catching her first glimpse of how other people spend their days and nights. It’s possible that she’s never even considered the question before.
Of course, from what we see of Fran’s world, her lack of curiosity is perhaps understandable. Lambert surgically observes the crushing mundanity of contemporary office life: the forced smiles, the endless small-talk, the impossibly hokey icebreaker exercises (“OK, what’s everybody’s favorite… food?”). The supporting performances will all be instantly recognizable to anyone who’s worked in the cogs of the white-collar world; in particular, Marcia DeBonis, as the retiring “office mother” type, feels directly plucked from reality. Every office has their share of Frans, floating through like ghosts, doing what they need to do and wordlessly going home. Can anyone blame them?
The tenor of Sometimes I Think About Dying occasionally recalls the likes of Otessa Moshfegh or Shirley Jackson, which may cause some to grow frustrated with its resolute quietness; there’s no grand sicko punchline as in Eileen, and while we don’t learn much about Fran’s backstory, it’s unlikely it contains anything as sinister as that of a Jackson heroine. On the flipside, those more accustomed to conventional narratives might be puzzled by the relative lack of transformation on the part of Fran, who by film’s end is still more or less the same timid creature we meet at the beginning. But there are signs of change: Fran has clearly begun both exploring her own humanity and recognizing it in others. It’s a relatable film– at times almost painfully so– and, morbid fantasies aside, it resists the urge to veer into cheap cinema-of-discomfort. Crucially, the film loves Fran, and wants to see her do better, and by the end of the film so do we. “It’s hard isn’t it?” one character asks Fran in a rare moment of candor, “Being a person?” It is– but, as Fran begins to learn by the film’s heartrending final shot, it isn’t impossible.
Sometimes I Think About Dying
2023
dir. Rachel Lambert
91 min.
Opens Friday, 2/2 @ AMC Boston Common
