In the last week alone [this entry was originally posted in April 2008, but there's a topical reference below which shouldn't be too difficult to spot], at least four people who don’t know each other have been sending me links to the Stuff White People Like blog. (Did it suddenly get Dugg last week or something?) I figure that Ivan Reitman’s wonderful film Juno — with its Kimya Dawson / Belle & Sebastian soundtrack*, the Sherman-Palladino & Palladino-style banter**, the Andersonian eccentricities (Wes, not Paul Thomas or, ha ha, Paul W.S.), plus two (count ‘em! two!) cast members from “Arrested Development” — would certainly be on that list. [Note: as I was writing this, Ver posted a comment on my blog saying that Juno was already on their list. That damn White People blogger!]
None of the above are necessarily characteristics of some sort of White indie-cinema aesthetic, of course. (The idea is as ridiculous as, say, a Black indie-cinema aesthetic, which would be one that encompasses both Tyler Perry and Charles Burnett.) But these are elements that perhaps resonate, even if indirectly, with White liberal middle-class audiences, as strands of some primordial genetic affinity with Whole Foods and L.L. Bean. (As a cultural anthropologist, I’m kidding here.)
But back to Juno. You probably know about the film already: a feisty 16-year old (in indie films the girls are almost always “spunky” or “feisty” — or Feisty, even) gets knocked up, and she decides to give the baby up for adoption. But — and I’m about to go out on a limb here because I can’t quite articulate this — the nature of the cinematic fantasy in Juno seems to be discursively White. But after all it’s a White world — a stereotyped world of charmingly kooky middle-classness and sterile (here, in two senses of the word) gated communities — in which Juno is located.*** (There are a couple of Asian kids though, one of whom protests outside an abortion clinic and yells “All babies want to be borned.”)
Juno is unreal in an odd white liberal wish-fulfillment sort of way, surely even by white working-class standards (Juno’s father and mother are air-conditioning repairman and “nail technician,” respectively). It’s a total fantasy, really, because parents aren’t generally so forgiving or practical, and such willing adoptive parents aren’t found the same week, and accidental fathers probably end up facing the barrel of a shotgun at some point like Sarah Palin’s new son-in-law, and health insurance isn’t a problem, and her pregnancy allows Juno to not have to drop out of school or flunk her exams. (Young women of color, especially poor and lower middle-class ones, wouldn’t be off the hook so easily, as the odds against them rise exponentially.)
But back to Juno again. So can I tell you folks that I really, really loved Juno, even if I’m not white, and despite all the political iffiness? That I loved the breathless, canny dialogue; the giddy intertextuality sprouting cultural parentheses and asterisks everywhere; the musical nerdiness; the nuggets of vulnerable truth; the painstakingly cluttered production design; the glib linguistic archness — all crammed, sometimes a little queasily, in the first fifteen minutes.
Thankfully, the film settles down after that (though I laughed really hard anyway). All the caffeinated, superficial quirkiness is peeled off to reveal a surprising, empathic depth — not just with Juno and Bleeker and her parents, but also the adoptive couple played by Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner. The movie really belongs to Ellen Page; it’s a performance that projects a perfectly calibrated smartass vulnerability. But Michael Cera — who, once again, is just excellent in communicating that mix of cluelessness and discomfort — and a great ensemble cast (including Allison Janney, Bateman, and a very good Garner) should also share the honors in this hilarious, very sweet film. Even if I’m not white.
*Though a person who counts the Stooges, Patti Smith, and the Runaways as her favorite groups of all time wouldn’t really use the Moldy Peaches for the soundtrack about her life, would she? (I’m listening to the soundtrack right now and I’m deciding I’m allergic to this.)
**I mean, doesn’t Kimya Dawson essentially serve the same function as Sam Phillips’ “la la las” on “Gilmore Girls” — as appropriate / ironic commentaries on the scene? (In fact, it’s easy to see Juno‘s musical debates on 1977 vs. 1993 (i.e., what was the best year for rock and roll) as taking place in Stars Hollow, Connecticut. Remember that episode of “Gilmore Girls” where Lane (okay, she’s Asian) was vinyl-shopping her way through that copy of the Mojo Collection? What indiegeekgirl hotness.)
***Come to think of it, Cloverfield was set in a rather White Manhattan as well, but that was probably because all the people of color were smart enough to get the fuck outta there.
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