Lady Bird

Call Me Lady Bird

Director: Greta Gerwig

Rating: 7.7

The opening moments of Lady Bird are like a punch to the gut in the best way possible. A mother and daughter, embarking on the classic senior-year road trip to tour college campuses, are serenely listening to The Grapes of Wrath on tape. It’s 2002, and they’re wiping away tears, so moved by Tom Joad’s plight. Their shared emotional moment is fleeting, though, because the next thing you know, 17-year-old Christine (a.k.a. Lady Bird, played by Saoirse Ronan with all the teenage angst you could ask for) is making it crystal clear that she’s outta Sacramento as soon as humanly possible. Her future? The East Coast. Why? Because "that’s where the culture is." As if Sacramento were the "Midwest of California"—a sentiment she delivers with the same level of grace as a bull in a china shop.

Meanwhile, Lady Bird’s mother, Marion (played by Laurie Metcalf, who should be crowned Queen of Movie Moms immediately), is busy channeling her inner passive-aggressive expert. A psychiatric nurse working double shifts after her husband is laid off, Marion tries, with a mix of sharpness and love, to sell her daughter on a cheaper in-state college. Spoiler alert: it’s not happening. Their clash of perspectives—driven by fear of the unknown and barely concealed affection—is the engine that powers this coming-of-age tale, one that feels like a long-lost John Hughes film. You’ve got the pink dresses, the quirky suitors, a dad in financial trouble (played by Tracy Letts), and an irresistible soundtrack featuring Alanis Morissette and Dave Matthews Band. It’s like a nostalgic indie dream with a mainstream budget.

And let’s talk about Greta Gerwig, shall we? Her solo directorial debut is a stunning piece of work. Lady Bird has all the indie charm, with a slickness that makes it feel like it’s primed for the Oscars. Gerwig’s script is semi-autobiographical but strikes the perfect balance between authenticity and universal appeal. While she co-wrote Frances Ha and Mistress America, this feels like Gerwig unleashed—a portrait of a teenager’s final year at a progressive Catholic high school that feels both personal and deeply relatable.

Gerwig’s gift for character is on full display here. Every supporting role is filled with quirky charm and perfect casting. Timothée Chalamet and Lucas Hedges are the dreamy crushes (you know, "that" phase of your life), but it's Beanie Feldstein as Lady Bird’s best friend, Julie, who steals the show. Watching Julie and Lady Bird giggle over communion wafers like they’re the most scandalous snack on earth is pure gold.

And then there’s Saoirse Ronan, who somehow manages to transform from the sweet Irish girl in "Brooklyn" into the mess of high school rebellion that is Lady Bird. With her blood-red hair, acne, and thrift-store fashion sense, Lady Bird is a whirlwind of thoughtfulness and impulsivity, sharp and naive all at once. She’s so relatable you’ll find yourself laughing and cringing in equal measure as she navigates the highs and lows of high school—finding out that smoking and drinking are overrated, dodging bad boyfriends, and realizing that maybe “not” getting the lead in the school play isn’t the end of the world.

Sure, there are moments that feel a little too on-the-nose (Lady Bird buying a bunch of "adult" things on her 18th birthday just because she can? Classic coming-of-age trope), but these are counterbalanced by moments of genuine tenderness—like a perfectly awkward prom reunion or a missed goodbye that hits you right in the feels. Lady Bird isn’t flawless, but it touches all the right emotional buttons, and as for Greta Gerwig? We can’t wait to see what she cooks up next time.