Another Juno viewing...

The critical and popular success of the 2007 film Juno directed by Jason Reitman has much to do with the audience’s connection with and sympathy for the eponymous character. Judging from the box office numbers and Academy Award reception, one should have no issue guessing that most people saw both Juno and Juno extremely positively. However, as often as moviegoers laud the film, critics have disparaged it for the lack of the realism and believability displayed in the character of Juno. Those who are a part of the latter group usually say that they dislike the film because they found it hard to connect with such a fictitious personality. Says one IMDB reviewer, “The main character is just annoying, and like the film, too contrived. You can't empathize with her as she isn't believable, it's just another attempt to be alternative.” Therefore, I believe that this film trades on the strength of the main character and to adjudicate the success of this film as a piece of art, I should examine how the filmmakers crafted Juno to reach this goal.

It is understandably a difficult task to judge how a whole film portrays its main character. Therefore, in this blog entry, I attempt to tackle this hurdle by focusing on some of the opening scenes. This is especially pertinent when considering Juno because the sole function of the introductory scenes is to show the world the quirkiness and wit of Juno.

The very first scene of the film opens to a silenced shot of Ellen Page standing on a lawn, facing a recliner chair while drinking from a gallon of orange juice. The shot in its bizarre content (e.g. the out-of-place living room chair and the odd choice in drink) and dreamlike composition is reminiscent of a surrealistic painting. The camera cuts to a close-up of her slightly pained, slightly apathetic expression as the wind blows over her hair. Enter Juno’s voice-over monologue, “It started with a chair.” Immediately, the viewer understands this movie is all about Juno and her uniqueness. Reitman successfully captures this sentiment by putting the subjectivity of Juno’s character front-and-center. We view the world through Juno’s eyes, and the director does not try to hide it. As stated above, this becomes apparent within the first few minutes of the film. After the opening scene, we follow Juno slowly walking around to the grocery store in a small town while the soundtrack totes the very quirky Barry Louis Polisar’s “All I Want is You.” The music almost perfectly exudes from Juno’s aura. Another instance of this comes right after Juno receives a positive pregnancy test for the third time. As she walks home in the dim evening light (which cleverly reflects Juno’s mood), the camera follows her closely from behind. All we can see is her upper torso and the back of her head covered by a big red hoodie. From her perspective we view her drudgingly walk past a group of runners who shoot her quick glances. With this very artful mise-en-scene, Reitman ensures that the world revolves around his main character. As the film goes on, it becomes apparent that as a viewer, you are invested in Juno, whether you like it or not.

From instances such as these, I think the film is very successful in projecting the viewer into the inner territory of Juno’s character. The combination of this and standard narrative techniques such as pathos and ethos allows the audience to sympathize with Juno and her unfortunate situation and at the same time admire her witty, idiosyncratic personality. The filmmakers did everything they could to boldly and artfully present a dynamic and thoroughly explored character. Therefore, whether one comes out of the viewing hating Juno or loving her seems entirely contingent on his or her subjectivities rather than the art itself. Personally—if that has any worth—I was in the “love it” contingency.