Imagine your neighbors invite you over to watch their home movies. Politely, you will agree to spend a few hours as a spectator of the lives of people you recognize but do not know. Like all home movies, theirs will begin with milestones—birthdays, holidays, weddings, etc.—but will meander and devolve until you’re only watching Uncle Frank’s shoes because he forgot he was holding the camcorder. Add some clunky, unnatural dialogue and you have Richard Linklater’s Boyhood: a film with a powerful, intriguing concept that ultimately fails in its execution.

For those unfamiliar, Boyhood is a coming-of-age story that was shot intermittently over 12 years with the same cast. I entered the movie theater to see Boyhood with high hopes but low expectations. Initially, I was charmed by the “period” soundtrack, the late-90s paraphernalia, and the bright-eyed Mason Jr. (Ellar Coltrane).  Boyhood, as many have described, is like a time capsule. It is fun, at first, to dredge up the objects and images that once defined us. In this way, Linklater does an impressive job of revealing Mason as he grows. At the start of each implied vignette we begin to notice the small changes in appearance that mark growth and age. It is important to note that these moments are the most subtle and also most effective portions of the entire film (and that they would occur simply by the nature of the concept, regardless of the director).

Unfortunately, the rest of Boyhood’s near 3-hour running time is uncomfortable and, worse, uninteresting. As Mason and his sister Samantha grow, their kid-acting becomes less endearing and more distracting. Even less forgivable is their mother, played by Patricia Arquette, who always seems to be reading from a script like an unprepared host on SNL. In fact, all of the dialogue feels like an over-written recitation from the actors and an under-written anti-statement from Linklater.

Characters struggle to guide and advise Mason through his formative years with clichés and rambling diatribes that amount to little. Mason himself grows into a vapid, philosophizing teen which is only slightly more excusable. After all, it is the teenage rite to believe one is smarter and more aware than everyone else. Yet this doesn’t seem to be a theme Linklater is trying to point out; it is merely something he stumbled upon that, like Uncle Frank’s shoes, happened to end up on film.

This is perhaps the greatest summation one can make of Boyhood: it strives for naturalism but is only vacuous. Intentionally or not, it says very little. In this way, it is less of a time-capsule and more of a Rorschach test. Anything one pulls out of the film is only a projection that the film itself, vaguely shaped as it is, did not put in.   

One might argue that all of this is intentional. Matt Zoller Seitz argues, “the movie’s constant (if empathetic) critique of American manhood, or what passes for American manhood: an entitled mental state that is really just boyhood with money and a driver’s license.” This would be an acceptable explanation if the film centered on Ethan Hawke’s Mason Sr. (which would have been a good idea considering his is the only performance that feels natural, watchable, and seems to have a purpose) who enters the film as a displaced ex-husband, caring-but-distant dad, and clichéd man-boy.

It is true that Mason Jr. is devoid of passion, drive, and intelligence (not to mention personality). But the film is not perceptive or intuitive enough to make this interesting let alone a critique and thus, at best, it is the theme. If this is true then Boyhood is not the awe-inspiring, brilliant film that the trailer, poster, and (worst of all) critics have suggested but it is the most nihilistic, negative picture of the American, male condition in recent memory. This also seems far too extreme for Linklater’s tonally neutral production.

If every director has one goal it should be to make an engaging film. Not every film has to have a grand 

message, make a statement, be interesting or devoid of boring moments but if a movie does not engage its audience then what is the point?

Derek Cianfrance’s Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines tell the story of a failing marriage and father-son relationships, respectively, in a way that is affecting and interesting. The characters feel real and 3-dimensional while the story is grounded with an actual purpose. In a much less naturalistic way, Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life, which actually deserves accolades like “Brilliant” and “Awe-Inspiring,“ evokes the wonder of being a child and the anxiety that comes with growing up.

None of the characters in The Tree of Life are very interesting but the film is immersive because of the atmosphere it creates. The actors don’t seem to be reciting lines, they’re simply exploring the world that Malick built for them. The opposite is true in Boyhood. Only Linklater himself seems to be alive: he is making mistakes, improvising, and taking risks while his characters only coast.

 Matt Zoller Seitz says, “Every character [in Boyhood] has a least one moment in which they have to heed the advice of Corinthians and put away childish things. None of them like it.” Perhaps Linklater needed to heed that advice as well. It is easy to get tunnel-vision working on a creative project. It is easy to fall in love with a concept and believe that it will automatically translate into a powerful final product. It is hard to put away these childish notions. It is harder to watch a long, pointless film full of unlikable characters. If your neighbors ask you to watch their home movies, consider reading a book instead. If they ask you to watch Boyhood, know that it is an important film—not for what it is but for everything it isn’t.