No Film Has Captured The Modern Millennial Experience Like ‘Mr. Roosevelt’

There’s been a lot written and studied about millennials, those magical creatures born throughout the ’80s and ’90s. Mostly that they are obsessed with Instagram and avocado toast and, of course, Instagramming said avocado toast. But no matter what study or thinkpiece you read about these oft-criticized humans, no film has captured what it means to be a millennial as much as Mr. Roosevelt.

Now streaming on Netflix, the comedy is written, directed by, and stars Noël Wells, a former SNL cast member that also served as Aziz Ansari’s love interest in season one of Master of None. What she’s done here with Mr. Roosevelt is not just impressive as a filmmaker, but as a storyteller (and deliverer) she’s completely portrayed…a generation.

That might sound a bit dramatic (hey, I’m a millennial after all!) and that is not to say that she has placed the feelings and experiences of every millennial on-screen with this one film. But if you are someone society or yourself has deemed a millennial, there’s undoubtedly something in Mr. Roosevelt that you will connect with and relate to. And as millennials, we love to do that.

Wells stars as Emily, a struggling comedian living in LA, sitting through insufferable improv shows and an evening at the bar with fellow comedians choking on their ambitions In only a couple of brief scenes, the film does no favors for improv shows and the subsequent hangouts, in a fair and all too accurate portrayal of what that comedy lifestyle is truly like. A hookup is very luckily for her interrupted by her ex Eric (Nick Thune), delivering the news that she might want to return to Austin as her cat is on his last leg. Also, it should be noted that the reveal of the patient here is one of the more clever moments of the film, and there are many.

Emily finds herself staying with her ex in the newly redecorated home where they used to live, that he now inhabits with his new girlfriend, Celeste (Britt Lower), who is best described as “a Pinterest board come to life.” It’s more than apparent that she got the inspo for her home remodeling from the social network as well as HGTV episodes, for sure.

As Emily mourns the loss of Mr. Roosevelt (oh, that’s the cat’s name) and attempts to recalibrate what she imagined Eric’s life was like, naturally with the help of an excessive amount of Facebooking, she must come to grips with her own narrative. Sure, she’s got a bunch of views on her YouTube videos, but is she as “famous” as strangers and old friends in her hometown declare her to be?

So she sits around brunch tables as Celeste and her friends, a group of people who excel at pretending inwardly and outwardly that they have their lives figured out, rant on about the negative effects of gluten, and Emily stuffs her face with as much bread as the restaurant has to offer. And that’s why this movie nails millennials so well: because both of those types, the gluten friends and foes, are exactly what being a young adult is about right now.

Emily is the kind of woman whose short-term plan is to figure out how to accept the death of her cat, her ex’s too perfect new girlfriend, the fact that she doesn’t have enough money to go back to LA, and that she has no game plan whatsoever if and when she does make it back there. As far as a long-term plan? Doesn’t exist for her. The insecurities, the brokenness, the unknown, the freedom, the overtalking, the Instagramming, the wistfulness, the hopefulness, the very moderate YouTube fame, the self-involvedness, the avoidance, the mimosas, the improv, the supportive friends, the random hookups, the lack of growing up, the dreadful knowledge and simultaneous denial that you are and should be grown up: it’s all part of the millennial experience. I know, I’m sounding all emotional, but again, just gotta blame it on my birth year.

Despite the fact that Wells totally pulls off the shorts over tights look (a lifelong goal of mine), and knows how to widen her big brown eyes to convey her character’s emotions, it feels disrespectful to refer to Emily as simply “quirky.” We’re past that. She can be a cool and complex woman without having to put that label on her, and don’t you dare offer up “adorkable” either. She’s purely relatable, and even when we don’t agree with her choices, we don’t pity them, because that would be pitying ourselves.

But where Mr. Roosevelt might offer even more insight into the millennial experience of today, is the fact that this isn’t your standard rom-com. There’s not a boy meets girl situation going on here. In fact, the focus is not on modern dating because quite frankly, the Bumbles and Tinders of the world would drag down the more meaningful message at play here: falling in love with yourself and figuring out what matters in life, with just a little help from your friends.

The friendship that Emily develops with waitress Jen (an excellent Danielle Pineda) serves as the most dynamic and fun relationship of the film. The new friends she makes along the way, begrudgingly and otherwise, all help her on her own path of self-discovery and acceptance — you know, the relationship that matters most. And also, the hardest one to figure out these days, considering we’re trying to wrap our minds around who we are physically, emotionally, and in the unchartered territory of digitally. Although Bumble and Tinder don’t help anything there either. But topless sunbathing and house parties definitely do.

Similar to films such as The Big Sick and Ingrid Goes West, this new crop of modern rom-coms proves that as (millennial) viewers, we don’t need to know that she gets the guy. It’s still nice, but not necessary. We (and Emily) just need to know that she’ll be ok. This comes in the form of friendships and profound moments and even just a teeny tiny bit of growing up — and usually all of that mixed together, while remaining funny and engaging and reassuring throughout. It’s the magic recipe for millennial life today, and what Mr. Roosevelt has cooked up here is a masterpiece.

Where to watch Mr. Roosevelt