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In an era when glamorous writing jobs have acquired the unreality of folklore, it feels fitting that Alexandra Pechman’s alluring and affectionate feature debut, “Magazine,” should portray its literary world as a fairy
tale. Set in a faraway time — summer 2011 — when office flirtations were fun, ambition was a given and purses hung crossbody, the film follows Nora (Lily McInery), an aspiring poet who lands a competitive internship at Platen, a fictional literary magazine à la The Paris Review. Nora’s time in the office, and the relationships that blossom — and one that withers — over the course of that formative span give shape to this earnest, appealing movie about idealism lost but innocence preserved.
Pechman, who worked in magazines during the era she depicts, drew on her own experiences to write “Magazine.” But the movie — like “Almost Famous” for the n+1 crowd — is less interested in realism than in evoking the shiny, spiky atmosphere of that recent past. Stacked with pitch-perfect needle drops and nods to a sartorial moment, it overflows with warm nostalgia even as it shades its romantic outlook with a shrewd understanding of how it feels to be a young woman in a workplace that inspires reverence while courting disillusion.
That experience is evergreen and “Magazine” captures its thrills and anxieties with deep affection and sharp attention. The story opens on Nora’s first day of work, as she loiters outside the Platen offices, waiting for the clock to tick a few minutes forward. Thomas (Joshuah Melnick), an assistant editor, has told her to arrive a little after 10 a.m., and when she opens the door five minutes past the hour, she’s confident that the plum (yet naturally unpaid) position awaiting her will be her entry into a rarefied dream career.
At first, the bright, airy Platen offices seem to confirm the fantasy. As appointed by production designer Valeria De Felice, the workspace is a literary dreamscape, lined with Persian rugs and bookcases displaying a rainbow of magazine spines. Skipping inside, Nora joins a cadre of shambling interns whom the editorial staff regard with a mixture of bemusement and disdain. Among them are the self-assured Tabitha (Lukita Maxwell), who, in heeled booties and smudged eyeliner, is clearly a soon-to-be pal, and the curmudgeonly Leonard (Daniel Zolghadri), who can’t resist pointing out that Nora must come from money if she can afford to move to New York for an unpaid role.
Actually, Nora is living on scholarship funds she won from her unnamed college — but that detail hardly matters. In the mythopoetic world of “Magazine,” money is basically irrelevant. When one coded-wealthy nepotism hire gets fired for neglecting work, the ousting occurs in a passing line of dialogue. And although Thomas — who, as Leonard bitterly notes, has been blessed with good looks and great taste in books — resides in a soaring Manhattan loft owned by his mother, his eventual caddish streak has more to do with his fragile professional ego than his privilege.
Indeed, in her devotion to sparkle, Pechman declines to probe too deeply into any of the industry’s more hurtful or exploitative dimensions. It’s not that her movie is blind to the hazards; the plot hinges on Nora’s discovery that her bosses aren’t immune to the cliché of hitting on their dewiest interns. But even as she and Tabitha are drawn into such dalliances and then bruised by them, the movie is less interested in passing judgment than in conjuring the freshman thrill of being young, curious and unguarded.
That can, at points, make “Magazine” seem overly gentle. In its allergy to cynicism, it sometimes comes off like a starry-eyed love story, not between people, but between Nora and the life she has envisioned for herself. As our heroine is drawn deeper into the Platen scene, mingling with haughty editors and attending parties alongside authors of niche renown — one is played by a very funny Alex Edelman — we admire her passion while nervously taking note of her naiveté.
It’s hardly a surprise when she falls into a relationship with Thomas, whose freckled smirk toggles between mischievous and manipulative. Amiable and self-absorbed in equal measure, he is happy to sleep with Nora so long as nobody finds out and she asks nothing in return. That Thomas has no intention of helping Nora professionally is obvious to us but less so to her, though it is expressed by one of the film’s more unusual and beguiling characters: Daphne (Iris Apatow), a worldly socialite who advises Nora not to have sex with her superiors; they’ll only prove useful if you entice them and then remain out of reach.
That advice — to use one’s femininity to play the players — sounds straight out of Samantha’s mouth in “Sex and the City”: a third-wave theory women can take or leave. Daphne’s strategy is well beyond our naif’s capacity, but in “Magazine,” the sophisticate’s worldview proves apt. As Nora’s feelings for Thomas butt up against her wish for a full-time offer at Platen, her romanticized notions of the people and place come crashing down. As it turns out, the magazine is not an enchanted realm, but a game with particular rules. Nora can either learn to play or walk away.
“Magazine” is the story of a young woman losing her religion, of youthful certainty clouding with doubt. Pechman brightens Nora’s awakening with notes of optimism: friendships gained, memories forged, lessons learned. There’s no major wreckage here, nor is comeuppance meted out to the wrongdoers. Where other filmmakers might have come down harder on the scene, casting Nora’s experience as evidence of entrenched dysfunction and storm clouds hovering on the horizon, Pechman holds fast to good cheer. But if the movie’s instinct for lenience makes it smaller, it never dims its shine.
