The 1940s marks an intriguing shift in Hollywood history; much of the Great Depression cinema was used to escape reality, but afterward, the gritty, dark genre of film noir emerged to directly confront it. Fantasy was countered with bitter truths in a highly stylized or experimental way, and this 2017 Netflix film starring Bob Odenkirk somehow manages to capture both of these seemingly mutually exclusive ideas. Girlfriend’s Day has all the makings of a classic noir, doling out disillusionment with a side of dry, offbeat humor and undulating pathos, yet it also subverts its own genre with a quirky backdrop of the cutthroat greeting card industry.
Though it seems this premise would undercut any sense of truth or realism in the film, it actually serves as the most effective and haunting way to dive into the crux of the commodification of art, a concept that is more relevant today than ever. Capturing and parodying the essence of noir at the same time, Girlfriend’s Day was ahead of its time in 2017 and now deserves its accolades. The 70-minute film introduces us to the competitive world of writing greeting cards, with Odenkirk’s character, Ray Wentworth, as the top dog in romantic cards until his divorce saps him of his emotions.
Shortly after being fired, the governor of California announces a new public holiday called Girlfriend’s Day, hosting a contest for independent writers to submit their most romantic cards. As corporations make shady deals, hire out goons, and even commit murders, Ray finds himself stuck right in the middle of this chaos. Pressure mounts from threatening businesses and a landlord selling his possessions in a yard sale, which forces Ray to write the best romance card he has ever penned—yet who will ultimately receive it?
Girlfriend’s Day is swimming in the hallmark pessimism and fatalism of noir, with harsh, pale lighting creating the cynical lens through which the film views its world. Much of its depth boils down to Odenkirk’s lead performance, which feels like a marriage of his previous offbeat sketch comedy humor and nuanced drama, reminiscent of his roles as Saul Goodman in Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. Ray carries the weight of his skepticism, sporting a derisive attitude that speaks volumes about his refusal to tap into his feelings. His crisp yet crinkled collars mirror his ambivalence toward fulfilling a role in his absurd society; he will play the part, but conviction has long been lost.
The presence of crime elements—powerful antagonists, detectives, and femme fatales—contributes to the noir quality of Girlfriend’s Day, but this is also where the film diverges from traditional genre conventions. These elements are parodied, creating a surreal fever dream of competing greeting card conglomerates where threats and betrayals run rampant to secure a single heartfelt card. The film introduces bizarre characters that contrast the expected pathos of hard-boiled crime stories, exposing viewers to reformed racists advocating for equality and a private investigator lamenting the industry’s impact on his wife.
Interestingly, it is these strange characters that truly dig into the raw realities Girlfriend’s Day aims to expose. Art and love are overtly commercialized into bite-sized, easy-to-consume maxims within the greeting card industry, an idea that resonates with the commercialization of relationships on Valentine’s Day. The town tries to breathe life into this declining industry with the introduction of the new holiday.
One of the film’s most absurd yet hilarious scenes involves washed-out greeting card writers performing at a pub, reminiscent of modern slam poetry meets. The commentary is sharp; the film cleverly critiques the industry while still providing entertainment. This surreal departure from classic film noir captures the essence of the genre: subversion intertwined with fidelity.
What makes Girlfriend’s Day a true noir film lies in its acute relevance today. Like any art movement, the genre reacts to its cultural times, and film noir embodies disillusionment and innovation. In 2017, Michael Stephenson’s eccentric yet sharp film faced a harder reception, but audiences today would likely be more open to its unique style and themes. The rise of independent cinema over recent years highlights the film’s purpose of unveiling a world where art is blatantly commercialized—a critique that resonates in an age dominated by massive franchises and quickly consumed media, often missing the depth and heart found in the pursuit of genuine connection that the characters in Girlfriend’s Day chase amidst chaos.
