The Coming of Age Canon

Coming of age films are difficult to categorise precisely, but I chose the below films because they capture a particular essence that characterises the genre for me – a grit, a longing, and an aching sensibility. This guiding metric may skew my perception of the canon somewhat, but I believe to come of age is to be changed deeply and permanently, and any film which has succeeded in acting on audiences in this way has likely also succeeded in rising to canon status.

Stand By Me (Rob Reiner, 1986) chronicles the journey of four friends determined to find the dead body of a local boy. What ensues is an adventure through junkyards, train tracks and leech-infested waters; boyish fun with dark undercurrents. In the haziness of the hot 1980s summer, the air hangs heavy with the weight of their personal struggles and of course, their destination. So enraptured we become with the boys as complex individuals and close friends, we forget there even is an endpoint for Gordo (Wil Wheaton), Chris (River Phoenix), Vern (Jerry O’Connell) and Teddy (Corey Feldman). The film’s tagline describes that destination as being a loss of innocence and a first taste of life, a poignant reflection on burgeoning adolescence. I have adored this film since I was a pre-teen like the protagonists, but don’t believe I’m biased in saying that its dual sense of danger and adventure have defined a genre and a generation.

Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut, Lady Bird (2017) is a force to be reckoned with. Following the girlhood of high school senior Christine “Lady Bird” McPherson (Saoirse Ronan), this film indelibly marked a genre long dominated by male characters and friendships. The eponymous Lady Bird longs for freedom from the stifling atmosphere of Catholic school and suburban California, attempting to make sense of herself and the world around her while hitting conventional teenage milestones. Lady Bird is tenacious, entertaining, and not wholly likeable, coming of age messily and with fierce resolve. The mother-daughter relationship upon which the story hangs is the film’s tour de force, skilfully portraying a complex dynamic that is criminally underrepresented in film. Lady Bird suggests that the home and family are often not distilled until they are in the rear-view, a thesis with enough universality to make it an instant classic upon release.

Dead Poets Society (Peter Weir, 1989) charts the inspiring influence unorthodox English teacher Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) has on a group of students at the prestigious Welton Academy. This band of friends, including shy Todd (Ethan Hawke) and gregarious Neil (Robert Sean Leonard), have had their lives mapped out in front of them since birth, but are galvanized by poetry to dare forge alternative paths. The film balances romanticism and realism on a fine point, as explicated in the boys’ respective metamorphoses and the ultimate consequences of their nonconformity. Dead Poets Society is a film about growing up and discovering your own values in the midst of those already placed firmly on your shoulders. It is a moving depiction of (probably) platonic love and the power of poetry, remaining enduringly quotable since 1989.

Unlike some of the films discussed above, Boyz n the Hood (John Singleton, 1991) is a coming of age story set far outside the borders of privilege. The film follows childhood friends Tre (Cuba Gooding Jr.), Rickey (Morris Chestnut) and Doughboy (Ice Cube), as they contend with issues of race, violence, fatherhood, and friendship while growing up in Southern Central LA It examines the reverberating consequences small choices can have when you’re young, especially in heightened environments where threat is ever-present. Singleton is incisive, exposing uncomfortable truths about the lives of young black men in America and the unique set of challenges they face while coming of age. The film’s vulnerable moments and powerful climaxes are all encased in that intoxicating 90’s saturation, making for an engaging and vivacious watch with a lasting legacy.

Moonlight (Barry Jenkins, 2016) is one of my favourite films of all time. Director Barry Jenkins has described his own childhood growing up in the Miami projects as “a beautiful struggle”, a circumstance and sentiment that exactly reflect the trajectory of our protagonist Chiron’s (Alex Hibbert/Ashton Sanders/Trevante Roads) life across three time periods. We witness Chiron’s painful journey to adulthood, coming to terms with his sexuality and identity in an unforgiving environment. With Moonlight, Jenkins viscerally juxtaposes the beauty and horror of the Miami projects, creating a piece of media that is intense, intimate, and achingly beautiful. The cinematography is nothing short of breath-taking, reflecting a visionary use of light and colour. The deep empathy we feel for Chiron reaches excruciating peaks, yet his coming of age story is one of the most important and moving ones I have ever had the pleasure of viewing.