359 - Ghost World article

Note: This isn't actually a review, but my attempt at a sort of critical essay. I've never done this before, so if it is pathetic or choppy, please forgive me.



Terry Zwigoff’s “Ghost World” is one of the most morally challenging films I’ve ever seen. It’s funny and brilliant, populated with impeccable performances and memorable moments, but it’s also mean-spirited and vicious. Or is it? The construction makes it hard to tell, which might be the point, but doesn’t make my job any easier.

Thora Birch plays Enid, the film’s acerbic protagonist. Fresh out of high school, Enid spends her free time (i.e. her entire life) slumming about town with her friend Becky (Scarlett Johansson). Willing and proud social misfits, they heap scorn on virtually everything and everyone that stumbles into their shallow lives. Though Enid could do this forever, Becky has started demonstrating a desire to move on with her life, much to the concern of her more sedentary chum.

The film really kicks off when the pair plays a vicious prank on Seymour (Steve Buscemi), a hapless, desperately lonely record collector. Becky instantly disregards him as a pathetic curiosity, but Endid begins hanging around him day and night. They forge a strong connection that each misunderstands. Enid sees Seymour as a sort of anti-rebel, a professional misanthropist like her who marches to the beat of his own drum. Seymour comes to view her as the cure to his isolation, a pretty pill that can reignite the will to live. Where else can this lead but ruin?

Whether or not the movie actually is cruel might come down to just who represents the film’s soul: Enid or Seymour. Enid seems like Zwigoff’s mouthpiece, but Seymour appears to be his self-portrait. Enid herself lacks malice, but also absent is concern for the experiences and feelings of others. Her relationships with others, be they Seymour, Becky, her boss during her one-day job at the movie theater, or her goofy art teacher (Illeana Douglas), are all marked by Enid’s complete lack of obligation. Not once in the film does Enid do anything kind for anyone else; the instances where she does demonstrate concern are either for the placation of her own ego (her attempts to get Seymour a date are like watching an overzealous parent push their child into sports) or to address a mess she created (her visiting Seymour in the hospital).

As a viewer, how does one overcome these obstacles? Enid is so well-written and perfectly acted that it’s near-impossible to disregard her outright, but what to make of a person with an attitude that dictates dodging the slightest inconvenience or responsibility to others? We can sense that Zwigoff isn’t asserting that her behavior deserves reward, but just how highly does he think of this borderline sociopathic twit? How much does he expect us to like Enid, to reconcile her wit and uniqueness with her terrible flakiness?

That these issues are so difficult might be indicative of Zwigoff’s skill. His later films (2003’s “Bad Santa” and 2006’s “Art School Confidential”) reflect a deep enough distrust and contempt for humanity that we know the worldview in this film was not a fluke. Though the film admires the texture of Enid’s quirky venom, I’d ultimately posit that it recognizes the substance for the results. Though some argue Enid and Seymour’s relationship was for the better, I suggest it was for the worse. While Enid gets to walk away, Seymour must carry the unbearable sting of rebuked happiness. And what can be a lot worse than that?