A gambling addict, a depressive, and an anxious teenager walk into a party. They’re “The Adults,” but they act as childish as they were when they lived under the same roof. They’re petty, they lie, and they can only communicate with each other by doing characters and silly voices. What finally brings them together again is a drunken homage to the dance sequence in Jean-Luc Godard’s “Bande à part.”
“The Adults” is a film about performance, aesthetically and thematically. Writer-director Dustin Guy Defa’s stripped-down, naturalistic style puts the actors at the forefront. The performances must carry the entire production because Defa’s direction tries to attract as little attention as possible. His shot choice rarely differs from a standard static master shot and 2-3 close-ups. When Defa does get a bit more adventurous with the camera, gracefully following characters down a path with an extended long take or capturing the energy of the final dance, the results are euphoric as the big emotions break out of their mumblecore cage.
The three core performances by Michael Cera, Hannah Gross, and Sophia Lillis are entirely in tune with what “The Adults” needs tonally. Cera, in particular, does a remarkable job of using the loveable awkward persona he typically mines comedy out of and turning it just unlikeable enough to create great drama but not so unlikeable that the character becomes annoying. Here, his awkwardness isn’t charming. It’s a mental block that keeps him from getting close to anyone. During a poker game with several people he’s never met, the group gets vulnerable by discussing the first time they understood the concept of death. Cera gives a heart-wrenching monologue, even turning on the tear ducts, that turns out to be a dramatic retelling of the plot of “The Lion King.” That Cera’s character is a poker addict — a game that requires a great set of performance skills to go with luck — drives home how important performing for others means to him.
Character performance within the actors’ performances is a thematic well Deva returns to several times to help us better understand these characters. Maggie (Lillis) is lost and a bit depressed after recently dropping out of college. She hasn’t found her place in the world yet, but when she can break out into a song and dance routine with her brother Eric (Cera) when he visits Maggie and her sister Rachel (Gross), she’s happier and freer than she is at any other point in the film before the finale.
Maggie, likewise, feels the need to break into character voices when she feels she isn’t being heard. It’s a habit developed from her relationship with her siblings — where Eric also feels the need to break into vocal performance whenever tension gets too high — but it’s something she carries into her conversations with other people — like the audio editor she tries to criticize by using a funny voice so she can get what she wants. Others don’t find the childish behavior so endearing.
But the siblings’ performance schtick is what brings them together. It allows them to express themselves in ways their underdeveloped emotional states won’t let them. Defa wants us to understand the cathartic nature of performance, catharsis for both the viewer of the performance and the performers themselves. As a result, “The Adults” becomes one of the more poignant discussions of what great acting is and what it can achieve in recent memory.
