Showing Up (2023)

Showing Up is a small, exquisitely tuned film that makes the everyday feel quietly monumental, turning the messy hours before a big moment into something funny, tender, and recognizably human. Kelly Reichardt directs with her trademark precision, letting the comedy and the ache of artistic labor seep in through interruptions, petty grudges, family worry, and the strange responsibility of caring for an injured pigeon—details that somehow add up to a portrait of a life. Michelle Williams is terrific as a sculptor whose patience is constantly being tested, and the supporting cast (especially Hong Chau) gives the movie a lived-in warmth that never feels “performed.” It’s not for viewers craving big plot turns or glossy catharsis, but if you’ve ever tried to make something meaningful while life keeps tapping you on the shoulder, this one lands with disarming grace.

Showing Up is trying to capture the unglamorous reality of making art: the tiny interruptions, petty resentments, and emotional noise that grind away at creativity right up to the moment you’re supposed to “show up.” Kelly Reichardt keeps it deliberately small and observational, which can feel quietly truthful—or, if you’re waiting for a story to kick into gear, frustratingly slight and low on momentum. A lot of the film is just Lizzy absorbing minor crises (including caring for an injured pigeon) rather than pursuing clear dramatic goals, so if you want catharsis, big turns, or a strong plot engine, this may feel insular and plodding. The redeeming side is the lived-in performances (especially Michelle Williams and Hong Chau) and the wry, humane attention to how everyday irritations shape a life, but it’s very much a mood piece, not a crowd-pleaser.