The Forty-Year-Old Version
“The Forty-Year-Old Version scathingly critiques the institution of theater.”
Title: The Forty-Year-Old Version (2020)
Director: Radha Blank 👩🏾🇺🇸
Writer: Radha Blank 👩🏾🇺🇸
Reviewed by Alicja Johnson 👩🏼🇺🇸
Technical: 4.5/5
It’s not often that a movie makes you double over with laughter but also leaves you in reflection. Director, writer, producer, and star Radha Blank accomplishes exactly that with her first feature film, The Forty-Year-Old Version.
In the Netflix film, Blank plays a fictional rendition of herself, also named Radha. We meet the New York playwright as she struggles to sell her most recent script, Harlem Ave, despite the critical success of her last production. That success took place over 10 years ago, however, and as Radha approaches the age of 40 she wonders how to move forward in an industry that seems uninterested in her voice.
But don’t be fooled by the bleak premise. Blank peppers her film with surprising moments of humor, many delivered by supporting characters who are fun to watch in their own right. While she asks questions that many other films have posed before, about authenticity in art and the perils of “selling out,” Blank offers her own answers in an electric resolution that might just be my favorite scene I’ve watched all year.
The Forty-Year-Old Version moves in and out of the theater space as Radha experiments with a hip-hop alter ego: RadhaMUSprime. With the help of her producer and love interest, D (Oswin Benjamin), Radha finds her rhythm and tries to reconcile this budding passion with the theater world she is reluctant to leave behind.
It’s important to mention the hip-hop component for two reasons. It lets Blank show off her serious flow as a rapper—I’m truly devastated that the movie’s original song, “Poverty Porn” isn’t available to buy—and additionally, the often oversexualized genre influenced Blank’s decision to shoot in black and white, which she felt shows a more vulnerable side of hip-hop. The cinematography works on multiple levels, as it seems to suggest that an uninspired artist lives in a world without color.
But for all there is to praise about the film, it does struggle with pacing. The movie drags at a few points, while also failing to pay enough attention to a B-storyline that takes place among Radha’s teenaged students. Blank crafted her fictional pupils with such care that it’s a shame they don’t get a satisfying conclusion.
Minor setbacks aside, The Forty-Year-Old Version marks a stunning directorial debut for Blank. The film may be a deeply personal work of art, but Blank’s witty screenplay and grounded performance result in a universal story. Anyone who has sought to create something will see themselves in Radha and can hopefully benefit from her message: It’s never too late to find your own voice.
Gender: 5/5
Does it pass the Bechdel Test? YES
Beyond having a female protagonist allowed the space to be simultaneously ambitious, brilliant, and flawed, the creators behind The Forty-Year-Old Version themselves are mostly women. Lena Waithe was the first to step up as a co-producer with Blank and reportedly generated financial backing for the film. (We love to see women uplifting other women.) Of its six producers, four identify as female, indicating stellar gender representation on both sides of the camera.
The film also gives us an invigorating look at female rappers. Hip-hop hasn’t historically been a welcoming place for women, but Blank envisions how it might get there. As Radha begins making her own beats, she worries that there’s no room in the genre for a woman her age. D helps her overcome the concern by encouraging her music and taking her to a “Queen of the Ring” match, which recreates the real-life battle rap league. The sparring session includes cameos from fierce female artists who leave Radha—and viewers at home—in awe.
Race: 5/5
Surprising absolutely no one, The Forty-Year-Old Version accurately depicts New York City where white people are the minority. But it also recognizes the city’s economic segregation; scenes that take place in the world of theater are populated almost exclusively with upper-class, white theatergoers. Drawing on the many years she herself spent toiling as a Black female playwright, Blank replicates the difficulties Black artists deal with every day in this space.
The primary source of frustration in this particular story manifests in the character J. Whitman (Reed Birney), a white producer who reads Radha’s play and dismisses it as “inauthentic,” declaring his disbelief that a Black person could have written the work. Radha later agrees to do rewrites so that Whitman will produce the play, but the final result leaves Radha feeling like a sellout for compromising her vision. The storyline scathingly critiques the fact that gatekeepers who control the institution of theater are mostly white and generally keep those doors shut tight for stories that don’t cater to whiteness.
On a more optimistic note, the film simultaneously juxtaposes the world of hip-hop as a satisfying reprieve from the blindingly homogenous theater space. The first time that Radha steps to up to a mic, a palpable shift takes over as rhymes begin to spill from her lips. It’s her truth, her voice, unhindered by external forces demanding that she cater her message for one audience or another. This comfort and freedom to express herself through rap—and around her musical peers—only grows as the film goes on. Meanwhile, the closer she gets to the opening night of Whitman’s Harlem Ave production, the more detached and ashamed she feels about having her name attached to the project. After all, her original story about gentrification in Harlem now centers a white woman, at Whitman’s direction.
Blank also does right by her other characters of color, particularly her best friend and agent, Archie. Korean American actor Peter Y. Kim gives his character pizzazz in every scene, all the while navigating the tricky dynamics of working with his high school friend. His most difficult task appears to be finding Radha work, which Blank uses to demonstrate the challenges people of color often face when trying to advocate for one another. Archie schmoozes Whitman (and goes further than that, it’s implied) just to get the man to produce Radha’s play, but then has to beg a reluctant Radha to take the opportunity. From there, Blank continues to build Archie into a nuanced and complex character.
Bonus for Body Diversity: +1.00
Radha is more buxom than the women we usually see on screen, but the film pays little attention to her size. While she frequently appears holding a dieting drink of some sort, well-meaning characters only poke fun at the drink itself in playful attempts to remind her that she is perfect as is. For the most part, Radha displays comfort in her own skin and with her own sexuality.
Bonus for LGBTQ: +0.75
In addition to being a killer agent and Radha’s strongest ally, Archie is gay. While his best friend grapples with her self-discovery, Archie faces his own challenges with work-life balance that culminate in a breakup with his boyfriend. We also see one of Radha’s students, Rosa (Haskiri Velazquez), express her attraction to her teacher multiple times. (Radha is always quick to shut it down, so the dynamic never becomes a concern). Rosa also happens to be gender non-conforming—pronouns she/her—and she eventually finds a more age-appropriate love interest in her classmate Elaine (Imani Lewis). All in all, there’s not much fanfare over any character’s sexuality. The film presents queerness in a positive and normalized way that never feels reliant on labels.
Mediaversity Grade: A+ 5.42/5
It’s truly a treat to escape into the captivating mind of Radha Blank. The Forty-Year-Old Version’s assertions about creativity are powerful enough to inspire even the most downtrodden artist to keep moving forward. Blank has clearly mastered her voice, and I only hope that the film industry gives it the reverence that theater apparently did not.
Like The Forty-Year-Old Version? Try these other titles featuring later-in-life resets.
Nomadland (2020)
Joker (2019)
Minari (2020)