Shopgirl

I've wanted to read Shopgirl ever since it first came out. I've always had a fascination with Steve Martin (circa Planes, Trains and Automobiles and Parenthood - otherwise known as before Cheaper by the Dozen). I bought it soon after it was published, dutifully cracked it open, got to about page 10 and put it down.

That was five years ago.

While I've forgiven Steve Martin for Cheaper by the Dozen and the 9 follow ups for which we can thank him, it's more my fascination with Claire Danes that inspired me to watch the film version tonight. Let's face it; every adolescent girl of my generation was convinced My So-Called Life was written about her and that Angela Chase represented every ounce of angst we endured every single day. Plus she's pasty like me and I dig that.

Shopgirl grew on me. In the beginning I confess I found it painfully boring, much like the first pages of the novella, apparently. Danes plays Mirabelle Buttersfield, a plain Jane store clerk working the glove department at Saks Fifth Avenue. This is probably the first moment of brilliance in the story - placing this unassuming girl from Vermont who moves to LA to "make her life start" in the least relevant section of one of the country's most luxurious department stores.

Mirabelle is lonely. She seems to have few friends and can't even convince her cat to come out from under her bed. She is aching for interaction. So much so that she welcomes the late night laundromat advances of a rather odd self-proclaimed artist named Jeremy, played masterfully by Jason Schwartzman. She is so very lonely that she allows some horribly awkward exchanges with Jeremy to play to exhaustion when she should have kicked him out three hours prior. He is a self-absorbed and oblivious child; someone I typically like to refer to as "a hot mess".

Enter Ray Porter, played beautifully by the author himself, Steve Martin. It's never clear why Ray pursues Mirabelle, what piqued his interest and when, but that, of course, is part of the appeal. Their courtship is delicate and awkward, but more in its self-consciousness than utter lack of manners, but Mirabelle is soon enamoured. While serving breakfast after their first night together, Ray announces, in a fashion with which many ladies are quite familiar, that he didn't quite have "permanent" in mind, so let's keep their options open since he travels so much, kind of thing. More juice?

Mirabelle agrees in a way that we anticipate. The thing about Mirabelle is she's rarely going to do what you want her to do. You quickly learn she is aware of the depression that holds her down, and is willing to accept any version of intimacy to have it in her life. Of course, the heartbreaking nature of it all is we fall in love as she falls in love, and begin to convince ourselves that yes, in fact, it is Ray who lives in denial. She becomes accustomed to Ray's luxurious way of life, though not in any sort of "Pretty Woman" kind of way. It is what it is and she's grateful for what he provides, without showing a shred of entitlement or spoiling.

I have a great deal of respect for Martin as a writer/screenwriter for his follow through with Mirabelle's character. While, on the surface, the manner in which the story ends could be construed as her discovery of real love and happiness, as it all began to unfold I almost protested aloud to the television. "Mirabelle, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The condescending manner in which Jeremy's revelation is treated cannot be ignored. Further, his attributing any success he has to Mirabelle seems to have little to do with a genuine connection and more to do with her simply being the last female he had contact with before his self-help induced epiphany.

The true success we share with Mirabelle is her pursuit of true passions and departure from the world of the outdated accessory. There's also the "success" of a too-late confession, which is as heartbreaking as it is satisfying, though probably wasn't even necessary in the first place . We all knew, just as she knew, what was really going on with Ray all along.

My one other complaint about the film, other than Jeremy's transition, is the stereotypical manner in which her background is treated. Again, Mirabelle hails from Vermont and has a wardrobe that is either cleverly retro or God awful. Upon a trip home to see her parents, their own wardrobes inspire visions of LL Bean catalog reject sweaters and burly beards and braids on old women. It's a bit obnoxious, but I'm also overly sensitive being a native Mainer. You know had Martin thrown that dart just a bit to the right and she would have been from Maine.

Shopgirl explores the sacrifices we're willing to make both for intimacy and connection as well as the avoidance of the same. It is well written, though far from profound, and beautifully portrayed.