Ghost World (2001)

USA/UK/Germany, 111 minutes
Director: Terry Zwigoff
Writers: Daniel Clowes, Terry Zwigoff
Photography: Affonso Beato
Production design: Edward T. McAvoy
Art direction: Alan E. Muraoka
Set decoration: Lisa Fischer
Cast: Thora Birch, Scarlett Johansson, Steve Buscemi, Illeana Douglas, Bob Balaban, Dave Sheridan, Brian George, Brad Renfro, Stacey Travis

You have to tread carefully with anything that purports to be a coming-of-age story about an 18-year-old girl, especially when it stars a 28-year-old woman, co-stars a 44-year-old man, is directed by a 51-year-old man, and is co-written with and based on a comic book by a 40-year-old man. So consider all caveats in place, including that the person offering this evaluation is a man now older than anyone involved at the time the movie came out. With the possible exceptions of Thora Birch, the aforementioned star who plays Enid (or sidekick Scarlett Johansson, who plays her best friend Rebecca and in fairness was 17 at the time this was released), none of us are in good positions to comment on its veracity. Ghost World tells the story of Enid, who is appealing both because of and in spite of her elaborate adolescent disaffection and who kinda sorta falls for Seymour (played by Steve Buscemi, in a wonderfully tempered performance), an introverted, self-loathing collector nerd who is more than twice her age. Oh hell, who am I kidding—this is first-rate fantasy intended for middle-aged males of a certain temperament who, all of us, to a one, collapse over it in admiration. And, yes, that's me getting up from the floor after having just seen it again, wondering if I actually liked it more the first time or this second time, and wondering indeed what that will mean for future viewings. But all I know is how much I dearly wish the events could be true to life. That said, there's little question about other qualities in effect here. There's a lot to like: for all its plot holes and misfires, the events move perfectly believably from point to point until all the characters find themselves in an immaculate muddle, the exasperating sort that people in real life, not to mention such TV and movie stalwarts as Lucille Ball or Jackie Gleason, are forever entangling themselves in. Seymour offers a refreshingly equable and serene, even self-aware, version of the kind of bitter misfit previously seen perhaps most famously in director Zwigoff's other great movie, the documentary Crumb, while Enid is like nothing so much as an idealized youthful female version of it. The production comes with a nice unforced comic book simplicity to the framing of its shots, likely the result of input from co-writer Daniel Clowes, whose comic book work on which this is based is widely admired (though it has never particularly appealed to me). The whole thing looks and feels just great, colorful and exuberant and creative and original, and it's overflowing with terrific music. There are also a good many fine, small performances in the supporting roles, most notably from Illeana Douglas, Bob Balaban, Dave Sheridan, and Brian George. This is a joy and a pleasure from beginning to end, and recommended without reservation to all disaffected middle-aged men anywhere who have ever clung to an adolescent preoccupation beyond their 20s.

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