"Chapter one: He adored New York City..."
Avenues is halfway between a ‘80s Woody Allen movie and a dime-store mumblecore film — something like early Noah Baumbach but a little more organic and neurotic — and that pitch alone would be enough to get me in the door. That is my idea of a good time. You are talking my language. But Avenues goes further than just being a serviceable specimen of an out-of-style dramedy format. Michael Angarano in his first writer-director-star outing brings some real juice and bite. Avenues is mean, but not cruel; quirky, but not whimsical; free-flowing, but not shapeless.
And it is very funny. The film opens with Max (Angarano) and his visiting friend Peter (Nicholas Braun) riding a ferry and looking at the Manhattan skyscape, their breath foggy from the bitter New York cold. The first line includes Angarano giving a terrific reading of the word “rigamarole,” and it was one of about six times I chuckled during the opening scene. That laugh ratio keeps up pretty well through the runtime, only dipping in the closing act as the film takes a more dramatic tack. The biggest laugh of the film comes towards its midpoint when Max’s sister Maggie (Maya Kazan) describes her new boyfriend and how she met him to Max, with about three great punchlines stacked on top of each other. I started choking on the water I was drinking from laughing so hard, and had to pause the movie to catch my breath.
The film follows Max on his 25th birthday. That number is no coincidence; a quarter of a hundred: Avenues is a quarter-life crisis movie, in fact one of the definitive ones that I’ve seen. Max is spinning his wheels creatively, having quit a job to try to make it as an author, but stuck in a writer’s block (or is it a self-fulfilling fear of failure?). He is hiding the grief of his brother recently killing himself. Like many mid-20s city folk, he’s stuck between wanting to party every night and creating a lifestyle more meaningful and steady.
His birthday ends up being, to quote Teddy Roosevelt, a “crowded hour.” Max visits an ex-girlfriend (Juno Temple), wanders all of Manhattan with Peter, starts then resolves a big fight with his best friend, connects and spends the day with two people he meets at an Indian restaurant, gets a letter in the mail his brother sent before he died, and holds a crazy birthday shindig. And that excludes a few plot turns in the film’s climax I’m leaving out. Max makes a bunch of bad decisions and a few good ones. In real life, no single day is ever this eventful for any person, but it serves as a great cross-section of the many inflection points and complex relationships in Max’s life. Avenues does all of this while being a comedy first and foremost.
The two women that he and Peter meet at lunch are Brooke (Ari Graynor) and Halley (Adelaide Clemens). Brooke and Max draw together, Brooke almost inexplicably fascinated by Max’s wandering spirit, while Halley flirts hard with Peter, who is in a long-term relationship with a girl in Montreal. The four spend most of the day together, enough time that we should have really sharp portraits of both women; but whereas most of the film’s supporting characters are instantly distinct, Halley and Brooke don’t get quite enough definition except in their relationships with the boys.
The acting is great, especially the leads. Angarano displays a terrific blend of spoiled boyishness and sparkle-eyed curiosity so that he’s off-putting at the same time you’re rooting for him. (It’s a similar effect to, but very different flavor from, Allen’s many self-directed starring roles.) He’s very funny in both line deliveries and some physical comedy (there’s a great bit with him struggling not to break an antique chair). Braun, who has since risen to fame on his performance in the show Succession, is the most “mumblecore” element of the film, awkward and maladjusted and a bit ragged, but still charming. He’s terrific, too.
I haven’t mentioned the best part yet: It’s only 75 minutes long! Rejoice, short movie lovers! (Speaking of “short,” shout-out to my fellow 5’7” king Angarano.) Avenues never lets a scene or thread carry on too long. In fact, it might even err a bit too hard on the punchiness: There’s a scene in the film’s climax set at a bar where four dynamic-shifting twists happen in, no joke, about 30 seconds. Not only do they lose impact, but I had to rewind to make sure I understood what was actually happening. Otherwise, though, I love the pace.
One odd twist for the film is its score. The plinky jazz score sounds like it belongs in a slightly shabbier Allen film (which is indeed one way to describe Avenues), doing some excellent mood setting (snoozy indie pop thankfully eschewed by Angarano). What’s strange about it is the credit: it’s by actor Michael Cera in his lone feature film composer credit. Way to go, George Michael.
Angarano’s next film, Sacramento, is on the festival circuit right now (incidentally co-starring Cera; the two must be good friends). Based on how much I loved Avenues, it shoots right near the top of my most anticipated list. The indie dramedy scene might be a bit emaciated the past few years, but there are plenty of gems for those willing to look.
Is It Good?
Very Good (6/8)
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