Omniscience at 17

During my recent stay in Los Angeles, I had a rather LA-type day when I watched two films, one of which was a preview. Both Juno and Charlie Bartlett, watched in the span of eleven hours, had teenage protagonists who came off too cool and stylized for a former student of literature, one well-heeled in suspending disbelief and plunging face first into fictitious worlds. Juno and Charlie attribute their copious charm to their liminality. Though both are still biologically adolescent, they encounter challenges - unintentional in the case of Juno, deliberate on the part of Charlie - which are the province of adults. They are both on the verge of maturity, the fine line where they are simultaneously optimistic, yet keenly skeptical of all the right things. As fun as each character is, artifice comes to the fore, and the endearing behavioral flaws, acting as both catalysts and centripetal forces propelling the film, seem lost amidst their evolutionary personae. Juno's sexual curiosity and childlike love for ineffectual Paulie Bleeker and Charlie's innate proclivity towards criminality function for a filmic end, and somehow seem static as reference points rather than good bases from which to evolve even within comic context. They are both plainly on the cusp of moving towards adulthood with the decisions they must make, but their choices on profound matters feel disingenuous. They seem guided by a stale, rational morality for Juno and hypergentility for Charlie. Though neither film is the first to suggest that a child shall lead, each thematically proffers the notion that society, institutions, and adults have made a royal hash of addressing the respective issues of reproductive health and mental health of teenagers. Hence, the logic asks, why not give the kids a shot? Though age or inexperience may disqualify Juno or Charlie from making a good choice, sensibility triumphs, but to the point where each of their voices become Messianic. Both subjects are 'big deals,' and available, popular solutions have not and do not work. Each character attempts to square these circles by bringing a brand of wit and perspective that, at their ambitious best, may change perception and attitudes, and, at worst, makes the viewer chuckle from carefully crafted dialogue. However fun and diverting these films were, the coolness overwhelms the substantial appeal of each character's initial dilemma. It is difficult to be true to one's self while simultaneously trying to find that self, and believing that struggle is all the more difficult when seemingly both Juno and Charlie act as they have all the answers.

When told that Juno was funded by pro-life producers, I chose to ignore a few artistic points about the movie I wanted to raise. I have not been able to rid entirely this knowledge in assessing the artistic facets of the film. Knowing that I could only read the movie through this particular lens, I will move onto two lingering questions concerning Charlie Bartlett: First, why was there no character portrayal of Charlie's father, incarcerated for tax evasion, as the film revealed? Second, why is there an implied connection between being very rich and being devoid of pettiness? Regarding the latter, could Charlie have been middle class or even poor? For the structure of the film, probably not. Poor kids do not have access to script-happy shrinks. However, suggesting devil-may-care optimism is beyond the ken of anyone but the wealthy is a bold artistic choice. Society seems to find upper class ne'er do wells harmless. After all, they do not collect from the public dole or commit violent crime. Like Bertie Wooster or the Monty Python twits competing to disrobe a mannequin, Charlie and his mom are the essence of Fitzgerald's dichotomy between the rich and the rest. Their preoccupations are neither of social stasis nor upward mobility. They merely exist, and, despite a rather un-ascetic existence, they seem better poised to keep a zen-like, kind, gentle perspective, a spiritual inability to cause any sort of harm. Though they act in self-interest, that has no knock-on effects to society. For the narrative, it works until the viewer finds out Charlie's father is in prison for tax evasion. This small fact anchors the narrative to societal reality. It hints at Balzac's aphorism where behind every great fortune is a crime. Amassing great wealth is difficult, and even the cleanest money is never truly pure. Yet, despite his father being in jail, Charlie remains positive without an assumed, concomitant naivete. Why is this so, especially in light of the first question? Bartlett senior is nothing more than an oil portrait in the dining room. The other significant paternal figure, played well by Robert Downey, Jr., is a mess as he struggles in his dual role as principal of Charlie's school and father of Charlie's love interest. Furthermore, auxiliary adult males such as psychiatrists, a policeman, a butler, and superintendent are irresponsible, buffoonish or blank. The film prepossesses an overt tension over paternalism: it is either absent or irrelevant. Against the disruption to the order in this fictive world, the paternal issue is never put to rest. Charlie eventually acquiesces to visit his jailbird dad, but the scene is omitted. Downey's character returns to his rightful place as teacher rather than administrator, but where paternal responsibility failed and that it may be resolved is never addressed. Granted the film is a comedy, it still plays the lighter, frivolous aspects off the pain of shame, loss, addiction, and incompetence. In removing Bartlett senior from the action and relegating Downey's character to a melancholy fool, the writer and director disembody the supposed cause responsible for the collective malaise of the young generation, and hence make even a hint of resolution unfeasible. Most of all, by never seeing his father and witnessing his pill-pooping mother, portrayed brilliantly by Hope Davis, Charlie appears less human, for his virtues seem almost accidental. Optimism is not spontaneous, and even if it comes naturally, still needs to be fostered. Looking at the bright side of things is hard, for even Charlie obscures his father's story for as long as he can. Tellingly, he comes clean about it to his girlfriend when he has a shot to get laid. Despite his faultless optimism, generosity towards and concern for his schoolmates, Charlie's character is still bound by his station. Why and how he got there are essential to the choices he makes, and unfortunately, those questions remain unaddressed. Too bad, for the commentary and narrative pay the price.