Imbued with a sense of humanity and messiness rarely seen in conventional contemporary independent films, director Alex Thompson and screenwriter/star Kelly O’Sullivan’s profound first feature, “Saint Frances,” transposes a typical story of arrested development onto an uncharacteristically flawed character in Bridget, a wayward 34-year-old who takes a job as a nanny of the titular Frances. In short, “Saint Frances” is the type of star-making turn from Sullivan that will, hopefully, catapult her as both an actress and filmmaker.
Framed within the conventional borders of growing pains, in which Bridget feels stuck in her mid-30s, with little accomplishments to her name and a thinly-veiled traumatic backstory (itself a trope of a certain type of film), “Saint Frances” really concerns the relationships that form between Bridget and the 6-year-old precocious Frances (Ramona Edith Williams), whose two parents Maya (Charin Alvarez) and Annie (Lily Mojekwu) have just given birth to a baby boy. While the couple seems to be in a more stable place than Bridget, Annie’s job as a lawyer keeps her outside of the house for long stretches, while Maya, who has given birth somewhat later in life, contends with postpartum depression.
On a separate, but nevertheless interconnected, track, Bridget has a blossoming romance with Jace (Max Lipchitz), a 26-year-old server who, despite his age, is more in tune with his feelings than Bridget is willing to admit, as she constantly self-sabotages their relationship, believing him to be too young—not her only method of projecting her own insecurities on others. Bridget’s eventual pregnancy and subsequent abortion become a connecting line between the two narratives, as Bridget is forced to confront her own insecurities.
What keeps “Saint Frances” refreshingly honest is its no-bullshit approach to sexuality and motherhood. In simultaneously dealing with postpartum depression and abortion, Sullivan highlights two underrepresented issues. Blood, in fact, becomes a central feature of the film, as Bridget constantly bleeds everywhere, whether from her period or the after-affects of her abortion. The introductory scene between Jace and Bridget is framed around them having sex on Bridget’s period, as they both casually awaken to blood smeared everywhere. Bridget’s subsequent shame and Jace’s unconcerned reaction highlight Bridget’s projections. When she begins to shun Jace for the douchey older musician Issac (Jim True-Frost), it’s the realistic regression of someone contending with societal pressure to become a mother, while at the same time not feeling ready.
“Saint Frances” is a film with a lot on its mind, contending with both straight and gay romantic partnerships in the 21st century, and even, as the title alludes to, religion, particularly Bridget and Maya’s relationship to God. But the film never overwhelms with these thematic issues, grounding them in believable characters. Annie, who is the sole breadwinner for her family, isn’t made out to be a villain, but instead, someone who is detached from the day-to-day routines of Maya and Frances but still very caring. Bridget, as well, in working a job that everyone reminds her is for younger people, is constantly rebuffing the social boxes that others attempt to place her in.
Not that Bridget self-reforms, or even that she needs to, by the end of the film. Instead, Thompson and Sullivan are more interested in self-acceptance, in a way that doesn’t smooth over her edges but celebrates them. As Bridget begins to notice her own flaws, and that any notions of finally becoming an “adult” are ridiculous, she realizes that her own messiness is okay. Growth is incremental and is more tied to interior belief structures than what society is telling her.
“Saint Frances” is truly a stunning debut, both in its overt treatment of problems women face all the time, and its sheer unconventional approaches to, what on the surface looks like, a conventional narrative. Yes, Frances is the type of clever-beyond-their-years child that crop up in movies of this type, but she is also represented as a six-year-old who cannot fully contend with the type of adult behaviors that Bridget forces upon her. In shading in these stock characterizations, Sullivan has crafted a movie overflowing with humanity, and, in her acting as Bridget, has created a profoundly affecting characterization. It’s a film that, on paper, sounds routine but, in practice, is anything but. [A]