“I mean, what’s there to be happy about, really? Going to the gym, climbing the StairMaster, eating the yogurt, checking the voicemail, smoking the low-tar cigarettes, shaving the bikini line.”
If nothing else, SubUrbia—which is not to be confused with Penelope Spheeris’ Suburbia from 1984—reinforces my pet theory that Steve Zahn has been criminally underrated for the entirety of his career. His brand of humor basically always lands for me, and he’s a boon to every movie I’ve ever seen him in.
In Richard Linklater’s angsty film, he plays that crucial cog of the friend group machinery that’s always in motion, always full of energy, always present, always mixing things up. Blissfully ignorant of the harsh realities that threaten to crush the spirits of his deadbeat friends—Jeff (Giovanni Ribisi), Sooze (Amie Carey), Tim (Nicky Katt), Bee-Bee (Dina Spybey)—Buff (Zahn) can be found stealing bulky lawn ornaments for kicks, or spastically rollerblading outside of the convenience store where the gang tends to loiter. He also sports a head of faded green hair and has a penchant for impromptu ululation. He’s a total joy, but Zahn is actually something like the fifth most prominent sluggard in SubUrbia, another 24-hour story in the vein of Linklater’s Slacker, Dazed and Confused, and Before Sunrise that is otherwise marked by a sense of agitation and impending doom.
Upsetting the precarious balance maintained between these twenty-something suburbanites and the testy foreign couple (Ajay Naidu, Samia Shoaib) that owns the hangout spot is the return of Pony (Jayce Bartok), a friend from high school who recently skyrocketed to unexpected fame as the frontman of a rock band. For some of his old friends, Pony’s arrival is a breath of fresh air; a taste of the exciting life that might exist if they could just escape this environment of ennui. For others, it serves as a catalyst for their worst impulses, quickening the personal crises that had been unfolding in slow motion. For Buff, it’s a chance to make his move with Pony’s publicist (Parker Posey). “So, then, you’re, like, available?” he asks. “In what way?” “In a horizontal way.”
The way these characters play off one another, each of their personas distinct and critical to the film’s heavy mood, reveals a masterful touch from Linklater and screenwriter Eric Bogosian, who adapts his own play. Mostly avoiding distracting plot beats, the film leans into its rich characters, confronting their problems, personalities, and politics with a sympathetic touch.