Bernice Bobs Her Hair is a work of incredible artistic integrity, accomplishing in 45 minutes what even the most well-crafted feature-length film fail to do in twice the amount of time – it provides us with a deep and insightful glimpse into the human condition, carefully curated by a director who has rarely received much of the acclaim she deserves, despite being one of the most unique voices in mid-century American cinema. Joan Micklin Silver is gradually starting to amass quite a reputation as her works gradually come to be appreciated by a much wider audience, many of whom were not aware of her prior to her recent passing, which ultimately threw many of her major works back into the spotlight. While it may not be the film she is most remembered for, Silver’s adaptation of the short story by the legendary F. Scott Fitzgerald (which was here adapted as an episode of the television anthology series The American Short Story, which covered many iconoclastic writers in the nation’s history) is simmering with fascinating ideas, which she brings to the screen with a blend of melancholic sadness and forthright exuberance, proving that (despite its short length), this is is an absolutely delightful study of a particular time and place in American history, which the director captures with her signature attention to detail, and willingness to take on challenging material and present it in a way that is enjoyable but thought-provoking, paying adequate tribute to one of the most important writers in the history of American literature through engaging with the fundamental themes that informed his craft.

On the surface, Bernice Bobs Her Hair may not seem like much. The story centres on a young woman of supposed Native American ancestry (although the film is slightly more vague about this, probably as a result of trying to avoid controversy in terms of casting) visiting with some of her relatives, who pride themselves on being part of the thriving high society in 1920s Wisconsin, where she does her best to assimilate into their upper-class rituals, but frequently finds herself at odds with those that surround her, many of the people she tries to acquaint herself with rejecting the idea of associating with such a notable outsider. In their opinion, they would rather stay close to those whose background they know and understand, rather than risking someone who is essentially a foreigner entering into the fray, for fear of their status coming into question through such an agreement. However, despite its relatively small-scale appearance, Bernice Bobs Her Hair is a truly informative and actively engaging work of storytelling, with the surface-level premise leading us to believe that it is just a quaint comedy-of-manners centred on social mores and conventions, only for it to gradually become more complex the further we start to see the very fabric of Bernice’s identity begin to change as a result of her efforts to fit in with people who never cared for her in the first place. Identity plays a particularly strong role in Bernice Bobs Her Hair, which focuses on a young woman giving up everything she has held to be true, all for the briefest moment of acceptance, which is where the more downbeat side of the story begins to appear, leading to a fascinating oscillation between themes.

With one of the most quietly shocking endings one is likely to find from such an effervescent comedy, Bernice Bobs Her Hair is quite a peculiar piece of narrative fiction, but one that is perfectly attuned to Silver’s sensibilities as a filmmaker. Primarily, this is a film about America’s past, which is something that the director has shown a considerable interest in exploring – the intimate details that she covers in her process of launching the viewer into the past is truly spellbinding, and leads to a fascinating series of moments between characters that make it feel genuinely quite authentic. Silver’s work is often reflective of her keen interest in American culture, above and beyond the direct stories being told – the smallest and most intimate social conventions are often the foundation of her work, and whether looking at immigrants or natural-born citizens, she has a firm adherence to the most intricate aspects of these people and their lives. Fitzgerald’s story afforded her the opportunity to have a text to guide the construction of this story, but so much of what makes Bernice Bobs Her Hair so memorable are the small flourishes that occur in between major moments, the directorial quirks that were only made possible through the visual form, whether it be the extravagant excess of the affluent relatives, or the striking image of Bernice undoing her mane of gorgeous hair, only to have it turned into a hideous bob, all for the sake of gaining the attention of the people she so desperately wanted to associate with, to the point where her identity was called into question, which is primarily where Silver’s interests begin to take shape in unusually stunning ways.

In terms of characterization, one can rarely find someone better suited to take on any material than Shelley Duvall who, at her peak, proved to be one of the most chameleonic performers of any generation. Made when she was still a relatively underpraised actress (having yet to reach the immense amount of praise she’d receive for 3 Women just a year later), she was an established name through her frequent creative partnership with Robert Altman, who essentially gave Duvall her career through casting her in several of his finest films. While her camera may not have adored the actress as much as that of Altman, Silver still clearly saw something special in Duvall, and in casting her as Bernice gave her yet another stunning character to dissect, which is done with precision by an actress who has yet to show any weakness when it comes to putting in an immense amount of effort to even the most meaningless roles. Bernice Bobs Her Hair has some of Duvall’s most complex work – it may be short, but every moment is spent with the titular character, Duvall measuring the impact of certain scenes and adjusting her performance to match the tone. She’s so good, not even talented actors like Veronica Cartwright and Bud Cort (both of whom were just as well-regarded, the latter having played across from Duvall as the titular character in Brewster McCloud a few years earlier) barely even register, since every minute is spent exploring Bernice’s psychological state, which is perfectly captured by Duvall, who commits entirely to challenging conventions through her performance.

Bernice Bobs Her Hair remains relatively unknown by modern audiences, even as Silver’s reputation gradually becomes more notable amongst the film community. However, there is very little doubt that this is a special film – running less than an hour, it may feel inconsequential and slight, but this is only a result of the short duration rather than any of the content, with this story being executed with the same earnest passion for the craft that the director demonstrated when making longer films. The themes contained in Bernice Bobs Her Hair may feel like they are unduly compressed, but working from an existing text, and under the umbrella of an anthology series that likely had very stringent rules when it come to how much artistic liberty was afforded to a director when adapting one of these works, Silver had to assert her distinctive penchant for more unorthodox methods of storytelling in other ways, whether it be in casting actors whose very presence invited us to take a deeper look, or in the small details that encompass the entire film and single-handedly make it such an enthralling and delightfully irreverent social satire. It’s easily accessible (both in terms of availability and in entertainment value), and has many fascinating ideas, which ultimately are woven together to form a peculiar little curio that may be small, but packs an emotional punch that films three times its length would be lucky to achieve.