Visually, Rachel Lambert constantly demarcates Fran from her colleagues, often framing her standing in an ungainly manner between two people talking, or lingering on the outskirts of a spirited group discussion. Even while she is huddled in the cocoon of her cubicle, the animated chatter of her co-workers buzzes in the background. They laugh and gossip with a carefreeness that feels completely foreign to her. On the flip side, her home life is presented in a very methodical and noiseless fashion. The use of dissolves, one image seamlessly transitioning into the next, evokes the mundanity of her existence. One day bleeds into the other with little to distinguish between them. She drives in town, walks to work, microwaves her food, brushes her teeth, gets ready for bed. Over and over again. These are the hushed rhythms of her loneliness. In a fleeting moment, she glances at a mother and her children, a furtive action that reflects her longing to be part of a “normal” life, yet unable to muster the courage to participate in the world in order to make that possible.
One shot in particular perfectly encapsulates social anxiety. Before stepping into a party, Fran stands frozen at the door, mentally preparing herself for a sea of unfamiliar faces—a position I’ve often found myself in. The image is brief, but it vividly portrays the bodily experience of living with social anxiety. I always need a moment to pause and compose myself before stepping into a large social gathering. It always feels like a daunting task to push myself forward, anchored down by the weight of nervousness and self-doubt. This scene brings back memories of a summer study abroad trip. I took one look at the sweaty, drunk throng of partygoers and went straight back to the safety of my room. There was another time where I hid inside my room during a house party that was being thrown in my own house (an event I tried to prevent my roommates from organizing). My college party experiences were few and far between; anxiety and an ambivalence to alcohol do not mix well (although I could probably use the social lubrication, I’ve never enjoyed it). I would often just stay in my dorm and play the Sims; the poetic irony that I preferred a 3D simulacrum of life, which I can control, over my real one is not lost on me.
Rachel Lambert eloquently describes Fran’s dilemma in her interview with the Alliance of Women Film Journalists: “I think she’s spent the whole of her life convinced that everyone else around her can be a person much more easily than she can. As a result, the frustration of that urge draws her inward, as it does a lot of us. I think when you take up that much residence inside, it starts to become the main space of your interaction of your stimulation of your thoughts, your feelings, your dreams, and that starts to sprout a lot of inner life, but it can also become the chief place that you’re living your life as a result.” This is precisely how social anxiety rears its ugly head, and we see this through Daisy Ridley’s carefully calibrated performance and Rachel Lambert’s thoughtful direction. Witnessing my own experience portrayed in such plain visual language, it was as if I was peering at myself through a looking glass, rather than someone else through the lens of a camera.