THE FORTY-YEAR-OLD VERSION: FILM REVIEW
Radha Blank’s The Forty-Year-Old Version is a film I wish I could have watched in theaters, not only for the chance to be engulfed by a beautifully shot 35mm black and white film on a large screen, but also to collectively laugh with strangers at moments that aren’t just funny -- they’re ridiculous. I knew I loved this film when I realized how psychotic I looked watching it alone, laughing hysterically to myself in the comfort of my own bed. But by the end, I found myself crying.
The Forty-Year-Old Version revolves around Radha Blank, a New York playwright who was named one of the most promising playwrights under thirty, but is now nearing forty and teaching theatre to high school kids. Her current life is plagued by a number of burgeoning issues, from her reluctance to help her brother empty out the apartment of their recently passed mother, to her craving to create a piece of work she can claim as truly hers. Radha’s right-hand man is her agent, Archie Kim (Peter Y. Kim), who also happens to be her childhood best friend. Archie excels at connecting Radha with the right people, although has less stringent boundaries around sacrificing art for paychecks. After an emotional night that ends with Radha choking affluent white producer Josh Whitman (Reed Birney) after he tells her he needs "a writer for my Harriet Tubman musical,” Radha stares herself down in the mirror and begins to try her hand at rap. Her flow is natural and fueled by anger, unleashing a new creative outlet for Radha to channel her authenticity.
Although Radha has been struggling over the last few years, she is not entirely removed from the playwriting scene. In fact, she recently wrote a play called “Harlem,” which aims to show how Harlem has been gentrified and the way that affects the community. After Archie pulls some strings (tickling Whitman’s balls), Whitman agrees to fund "Harlem," but only under the condition that he can make a few “minor” changes. Under his white gaze, Whitman takes Radha’s initial vision for “Harlem” and wrings the life out of it, as he tokenizes the Harlem community to make white people feel good about how “woke” they are in being able to “understand” gentrification.
During rehearsals, a Black actress asks Radha why her lines are written the way they are. They seem forced, unnatural. Just as Radha prepares to respond, the white female director who is vetted because she “directed 'A Raisin in the Sun',” interrupts, going on a hollow spiel about what soy milk represents in the play. She attempts to explain Radha’s art for her, taking agency over a matter she has no place in. “I should write about a mother shooting up in an alley,” Radha jokes. No, but yes, Whitman’s response suggests.
This is where hip-hop comes in. Radha is drawn to hip-hop, because unlike directing a half-assed version of “Harlem,” in hip-hop, she cannot be mute. She has to be loud; her success lies in how effectively she can capture the truth. When Radha begins to doubt herself, D (Oswin Benjamin), a well-meaning DJ she found on Instagram that helps her make beats, takes her to a female rap battle at a boxing ring, where she witnesses female rappers spitting roasts at each other in front of a live audience. Radha is mesmerized by the rappers’ boldness and their spirit, their commitment to really speaking their mind. She wants to do the same.
From the outset, Radha presents as an extremely likable character, and the audience roots not only for her success, but for her inner peace. However, Radha is not without flaws. Throughout the film, she projects her inner narratives and conflicts onto others, stringing them along for the ride. Radha blames Archie for securing her a “sell-out” project, even though she never explicitly turned the project down. She ignores her brother’s calls, delaying his closure with the death of their mother. Radha even initially stereotypes D, as she assumes he’s not "sophisticated" enough to understand theatre. Despite it all, we have deep empathy for Radha, as she struggles to choose between an exhaustive path of following her gut and settling for a twisted version of the truth.
Blank’s most stellar achievement in The Forty-Year Old Version is crafting an enchanting, linear story that is riddled with witty commentary on issues ranging from the sacrifices that come with fearless authenticity, to navigating an industry largely driven by rich, white gatekeepers of art. However, as Radha finds, the only gates that people like Whitman guard are those that lead to hell, and in the end, she finds solace -- not in her imminent future or her even past, but in her present. And for us and Radha, that is more than enough.