A far cry from the likes of Slacker or A Scanner Darkly, Richard Linklater’s underrated adaptation of Maria Semple’s Where’d You Go, Bernadette? is perhaps more closely aligned, in terms of being “mainstream,” with another work of his, School of Rock. Yet even despite having Cate Blanchett in the eponymous role, a stalled release that didn’t even yet have corona to blame seemed to get the movie off to a rough start already (eventually it came out in theaters on August 16, 2019).
This, paired with a trailer that made it look as though the entire film would be about Bernadette’s family trying to find her (it’s not), ultimately seemed to seal the kiss of death for reviews and box office grosses. Nonetheless, like all Linklater movies, there is a tinge of philosophy to the narrative (even if pedantics would prefer to call it “dime-store philosophy”). One that follows reclusive and misanthropic Bernadette Fox on her “road to recovery.” Even if it’s, in truth, society that needs to do the recovering. And what, precisely, is Bernadette recovering from (apart from being styled to look like Anna Wintour)? Well, life itself, of course. As she puts it, “I just need you to know how hard it is for me sometimes… The banality of life.” A banality that was once at least slightly mitigated by her work as an architect—a skill that’s part and parcel of “retain[ing] the right to be incredibly moved by those little things no one notices.” The very gift, in short, that makes her a genius.
Indeed, Semple’s original novel is one “about misplaced genius.” In the movie, that translates, too, as genius forced to atrophy in the wake of becoming a mother. That is Bernadette’s sole purpose now. And though, like all cliches, she’s someone who will swear that being a mom to “Bee” (Emma Nelson)—real name Balakrishna, as in: Bala Krishna—is enough. Even though she was formerly a high-powered, constantly-in-motion architect before moving to Seattle and having a baby while her husband, Elgie (Billy Crudup), worked—and continues to work—as a head honcho but still corporate shill for Microsoft.
As she tells it to a former colleague, Paul Jellinek (Laurence Fishburne), “When I first saw Bee, I knew that she was ‘other,’ and that she’d been entrusted to me. Do you know those posters of Baby Krishna? The Bala Krishna, the creator and the destroyer, and he’s fat and happy and blue? Well, that’s what Bee was: the creator and destroyer…” Because she created a new life for Bernadette and seemingly destroyed the one where she could devote all of her hours to architectural innovation. Bernadette continues, “So I said to the nurses, ‘She’s not gonna die, she’s Bala Krishna.’ And they actually put that name on the birth certificate.” Perhaps a testament to Americans’ inability to understand irony.
Because of Bee’s physical defect upon being born (“Her heart hadn’t developed completely and it needed to be rebuilt in a series of operations, ‘cause, um, her chances of survival, they were minuscule”), all of Bernadette’s time and energy is subsequently funneled into the child. Conveniently timed for her to have an excuse about giving up altogether on architecture. For her masterpiece, the Twenty Mile House in Los Angeles, was bought by a sleazoid millionaire who tore it down and turned it into an overflow parking lot. For Bernadette, such a fate for one of her babies (as that is what art is to the artist) is a primary reason for giving up on her artistry altogether. Seeing herself as a failure despite the circumstances surrounding what happened to Twenty Mile House being out of her control, Bernadette has an unspoken phobia about starting a new project again (among many other phobias developed over the decades). Even though not starting one has become the very thing that’s driven her to madness. To become so blind to her need as an artist to create that Paul finally tells her bluntly, “People like you must create. That’s what you were brought into the world to do, Bernadette. If you don’t, you become a menace to society.”
And yet, Paul seems to discount the notion bandied by James Baldwin and more recently adopted by Madonna as her own: “Artists are here to disturb the peace.” The entire raison d’être to be an “artist,” therefore an inherent weirdo who can never seem to fit into society’s mold no matter how “evolved” it becomes, is to be a menace. And in this way, remind society just how continuously pearl-clutching it continues to be. So for Paul to say that Bernadette’s art is essentially the very thing making her a “productive member of society” is to negate entirely what art actually means. Sure, it can be functional—as in the case of architecture—but it should never be the thing that makes an artist “accepted” by society for choosing to “function correctly” within its parameters.
It would seem the true source of Bernadette’s mental unraveling isn’t just that she hasn’t created something in twenty years, but that, as Bee says, “Whatever you do, don’t ever tell Mom you’re bored. She’ll be like, ‘Well, guess what? It only gets more boring and the sooner you learn it’s on you to make your own life interesting, the better off you’ll be.’” It’s a sort of Betty Draper philosophy re: “Only boring people are bored.” And so, perhaps Bernadette has come to terms with the idea that she cannot be boring any longer. Even though her eccentricities made her the most interesting thing in Seattle. Plus, her daily schedule of menacing her uppity neighbor, Audrey (Kristen Wiig), just goes to show that only true artists have the endurance to be daily menaces before burning out entirely, often too soon.
Of course, in the modern era, “artists” have taken a healthier, more cautious tack—wanting to live as long as possible despite a more robust lifespan not necessarily meaning more worthwhile stories to tell. It would appear Bernadette is about to fall into the same category as she carefully recalibrates her brain to serve “the muse” in a way that can also benefit the very thing that all artists should abhor: the public. Yet, ironically, it is the public they depend on for “validation” (a.k.a. potential money-making in their lifetime), adding to the endless string of curses that come with being born an artist. One of them being the full-time unpaid job of being “menacing.”
