Frighteningly faithful to a cultural generation for whom sincerity is for suckers, mail comes by phone, and politics are for documentaries, Frances Ha appears as fashionably distracted as its characters, but, much like the core of France’s shambolic, vulnerable personality, there is grace in spades. It plays like a pop record you want to play over and over: imagine Paul McCartney jamming with George Delerue in a Brooklyn basement. This is tits. Ha.
September 01, 2012