In Deep Focus: Adventureland

What’s the point of being a writer or an artist? What is it that compels us to forgo the tried and true path of climbing the corporate ladder of, say, a fortune 500 company? (Which is generally a super easy job market to break into, and everyone is super happy there.) Gosh, those folks really got it going, huh? But, alas, some of the global population go without these simple pleasures and embark on a journey to make THINGS. Whether they be squiggles on paper that when read sequentially communicate some feeling, emotion, or comedic perspective. Or maybe it’s the type of art, much like the film Adventureland, a series of moving pictures that when watched in sequence create a movie. Whatever it is, the odds are stacked against those who seek a life of comfort from their art; it won't come easily, and there may never be a guarantee of success.

Herein lies what plagues Adventureland’s main character, James, played by Jesse Eisenberg, for the entirety of the piece: what to do with misplaced passion. James—a role that welcomes with open arms Eisenberg’s particular brand of awkward, intellectual depth (there's an argument for pseudo-) and dry deadpan humor—is convinced his access to this creative life and artist's struggle largely depends on external factors, whether financial, educational or otherwise. If he could afford to go to Europe, then he’d get a jump start on that traveling journalism kick he’s on; if he could only afford to go to Columbia, then he’d finally get access to an education that’ll open him up so he’d pour himself out on the page. If only he could convey his feelings in a subtle manner, perhaps he'd navigate the complex terrain of love more successfully. Over the course of the film, he is denied all these pleasures. Rather than go to Europe, he must work at a local theme park to raise money for the apartment he can no longer afford at Columbia, which he ultimately won’t attend. Though reluctant to join the masses in wage labor, James makes the best of the situation and manages to make friends despite his misgivings—mostly because he’s in possession of some good (dank even?) weed.

After integrating himself within the world of the theme park, making friends, and falling in love, he fumbles it all. He ruins things with his paramour, Em, played by Kristen Stewart, and she leaves town. Saddened by the breakup, he gets drunk, crashes his mom's car, and has to spend all the money he earned over the summer to fix the car. Meanwhile, his friend who had planned to help pay his rent at Columbia decides he wants to attend Harvard instead. Defeated, the viewer finds James lying, with a few empty beer cans surrounding him, on a grassy hill with his friends, Martin and Frigo. Using a Dutch tilted frame, the world is presented as dissonant, almost as if the laws of gravity wanted to pour the gang off the hill,forcibly nudging them towards momentum. Frigo runs around the hill shooting bottle rockets into the sky, screaming out at imagined communists encroaching. The shimmering flames of the bottle rockets contrasts sharply with the drab, cloudy sky. Joel mentions the circumstances are less than ideal for James. James says he wishes things didn’t end so horribly with Em. Joel, in an attempt to cheer up James, but also motivated from a sincere consideration that seems to haunt him, shares an anecdote about author Herman Melville. He starts by asking what the point of being creative is and explains when Melville passed away no one knew who he was, so much so that in his obituary his name was misspelled as “Henry Melville.” 

“Why bother,” Joel replies, “they’re going to forget our names anyways.” James laughs in response. A laugh on the surface, but really just a defense mechanism. Behind that laugh is a deflection of how true that probably is for most artists. James doesn't respond. “I heard Em went back to New York,” Joel continues.

“Yeah I wish it didn’t end like that…” James says and drifts off. The music picks up, James looks over and watches Frigo attack the imagined enemies, howling out commands to comrades not present. On James’ face there’s a shift—something is changing. 

Though this shift comes suddenly, James—influenced not just by the Melville story, but the agony of losing Em and the freedom and ignorance Frigo sustains a life on—realizes that he’s mistakenly looked to the external world to catalyze his life. The whole summer is running through James’ mind, his future is receding, everything he’d counted on for helping guide him comfortably into that artist's life is shifting with unclear definitions. 

Then as suddenly as an idea might occur, James says, “Your Herman Melville story… that’s bullshit.” 

“It’s true, they called him ‘Henry.’”

“No, I mean, he wrote a seven hundred page allegorical novel about the whaling industry… I think he was a pretty passionate guy, Joel.” Then he pauses for a moment. The idea of passion being the dowsing rod that leads you to creativity, ideas, works of literature, friendships, or falling in love becomes clear to him. The summer begins to recede, and the future is in hyper focus. The consideration that it’s passion that sustains creativity and interpersonal relationships frees him from waiting around for the external world to push him along. Passion is that unamable feeling that motivates us to lay all else to the wayside in pursuit of making—that liberates instead of burdening. College helps, sure. Inherited wealth opens plenty of doors, of course (also, boo). But none of that amounts to much if you’re not driven totally mad to create. “I hope they call me Henry when I die,” James says. Freed from self-entrapment, he frees himself of the burden of looking to the external world for passion or motivation.

“One can only hope,” Joel says. He takes James’ meaning. The hope he speaks to is to wake up each day with that unscratchable itch to create and to love still there. And on the days that feeling is missing, when the external world has nothing to offer, the hope is that James will still show up and make an attempt to connect. The conclusion to the scene shows, in its own silly way, exactly this: James finally punches Frigo back in the balls after getting his pummeled all summer. A literal, “taking life by the…” well, you know.