Directed by Alex Thompson
Written by Kelly O’Sullivan
Starring Kelly O’Sullivan, Charin Alvarez, Ramona Edith-Williams, Lily Mojekwu and Max Lipchitz
MPAA rating: R for sex, language, and adult situations
Running time: 1 hour and 46 minutes

by Audrey Callerstrom

Although Saint Frances hits a lot of familiar indie beats (and is a bit too long) it is a sincere story about how women struggle with identity at an age when their peers are having children. The film introduces us to Bridget (Kelly O’Sullivan, who also wrote the film) at a party, bored listening to a man’s story about his recurring dream. In it, he’s in a small, one-bedroom apartment (not unlike the one Bridget lives in) and he can’t find his wife and kids anywhere. Realizing he has to live a solitary life, he jumps out a window. In essence, if he had to live Bridget’s life, he’d rather be dead. He asks her what she does for a living and she says, with a dismissive tone, that she’s a server. “Well, you’re in your 20s,” he says. “I’m 34,” she says. Pause. Later she meets another guy at the party, the young and affable Jace (Max Lipchitz). Finding out that he is also a server, they leave to have sex.

Bridget lives a life of no obligations or responsibilities. She feigns interest when a close friend calls her to talk about her new baby. When asked if she’s close to her brother, she says no, because “he has a job and a house and [he] is very responsible.” She never prepares for when her period comes, always checking the back of her jeans for a blood stain, like many of us did when we were in junior high. After her and Jace have sex, she wakes to find blood on her the sheets. Bridget and Jace laugh about it. Think of the period scenes you’ve seen in movies. How many of those scenes were supposed to be funny? Saint Frances knows these awkward moments exist. Periods have been around for forever. Let’s have a sense of humor about them. 

Bridget is hired as a nanny to look after 5-year-old Frances (newcomer Ramona Edith-Williams), daughter of lesbian couple Annie (Lily Mojekwu) and Maya (Charin Alvarez), who is pregnant with their second child. Maya and Annie are a well-intentioned, educated couple that make sure that their daughter grows up informed and free of shame (she recites a speech about what each of her moms use for their periods). But they also do things like send Frances to hipster guitar lessons (“Lil Strummers”), even though she shows no interest. Bridget is hired to look after Frances after Maya gives birth to their new son, Wally. Maya, as Bridget describes her before having Wally, was “funny and sexy… now she’s a bare-boobed, perpetually crying milk machine.” Maya behaves indifferently toward Wally, and often looks defeated when he cries. Maya has postpartum depression. Bridget recognizes this shortly after Bridget’s mother, Carol (Mary Beth Fisher) shares a story about how, while holding a crying baby Bridget in her arms, Carol had intrusive thoughts about hanging Bridget by her feet and smashing her into a wall. Bridget is shocked by this story, but Carol laughs. “Women need to share these things, then they wouldn’t feel so lonely” Carol says (I wrote in my notes, “I am Carol'').

There are many laugh-out-loud moments in spite of themes like depression and abortion. Bridget has a medical abortion after getting pregnant by Jace and they joke about how pregnancy trackers always compare the size of a fetus to a cute object (Jace suggests calling it a “rat turd” instead). When Bridget tells her mom she might freeze her eggs, her mom laughs. “You could never afford that!” When Bridget departs from a hike with her parents, her father’s parting words are, “get your oil changed.” Bridget dismisses some of Jace’s opinions as being those of a millennial (he’s 26). When he responds that Bridget is also a millennial, she gets defensive (“I’m on the cusp!”) The film could do without one or two montages set to guitar strumming (we already know that Bridget and Frances are bonding without them), and other tropes, like Bridget pushing away the adorable and kind-hearted Jace in favor of the asshole who teaches Lil Strummers. Additionally, a scene involving public breastfeeding feels particularly manufactured to make an obvious point. Alex Thompson, a director of short films, shows skill with his first full-length feature, particularly through the performances. Ultimately, the film belongs to O’Sullivan, who perfectly captures being in your 30s and ambivalent about the options that lie ahead of you when the omnipresence of social media reminds you of what you don’t have.

Saint Frances is currently screening via a partnership between the distributor, Oscilloscope, and a number of local arthouse theaters. Click the link and pick which theater you’d like to support!