The order of events is something that might make sense in a Pedro Almodovar or Wes Anderson film, yet Gerwig’s filmmaking possesses none of Almodovar’s stylized zaniness or Anderson’s diorama artifice. She plays it straight. Gerwig juxtaposes moments like this throughout the film, certainly sometimes for a laugh, but never with hint of irony or remove. Over the Brion track, what follows is a deceptively breezy montage that, in just a few minutes, amusingly introduces us to over a dozen significant characters and another 15 relationships. This accomplishment from an exposition standpoint is mind boggling, but it is thoroughly entertaining and more importantly visually introduces us to major conflicts — the cause of unspoken tension with her best friend, Lady Bird’s uneasy relationship with religion, and many more — that resonate and deepen as the film unspools.
This is Howard Hawks-level work. Gerwig is driving 200mph around hairpin turns, humming a song and making it look and feel like a stroll in the park. “Lady Bird” is every inch as painstakingly planned out and precise in its complexity as “Dunkirk,” but without an inch of the directorial flex. To say this is mostly Gerwig’s incredible script is to ignore the tradition — from Billy Wilder to Noah Baumbach — of directors who constantly rewrite until they find unique ways to balance dramatic truth and comedy. For them, the script is like sheet music for the song playing in their head, which are tuned so every note is perfected before being taken to collaborators who must be conducted to play the same piece of music.