The first thing we hear in Richard Linklater's Boyhood is the unmistakable opening strain of Coldplay's 'Yellow.' Suppressing the vision of a young, pasty Chris Martin walking very slowly along a beach, I slid down my seat and prepared for the worst. (Not that I buy into the rabid scapegoating of Chris and co., but that tune is one jaundiced refrain too far.) Luckily, the song falters into the background, tinkling through the radio in the family home of Mason (Ellar Coltrane). It is of its time - a catchy part of life's daily hum - as it was in millions of homes near the beginning of the last decade. Over the next few hours, Linklater zones in on the experience of one family, and one boy in particular, documenting Mason's childhood and adolescence with an exquisite blend of empathy and curiosity. Boyhood was twelve years in the making but it has been crafted with the lightest touch, creating a story we imagine might have unfolded without us, and may still be unfolding now that we have left.
Linklater's films have always shown a fascination for time, and the relative brevity of our experiences. In the Before... trilogy, Ethan Hawke (who reappears here as Mason's father) and Julie Delpy snatch brief moments together in Vienna and Paris; the short hours guarding a love that neither character can resist. In Boyhood, we are not quite so pressed for time. There is an organic quality to the film's structure: Linklater drops in on Mason at unspecified intervals, sometimes coinciding with momentous incidents; at other points, turning an eye to the more mundane. This unbiased perspective is what makes Mason's evolution so compelling. His life is not hostage to the vagaries of a Hollywood plot.
That is not to say that there is anything dull about this film. The supporting players in Mason's history are an eclectic, often hilarious mix. Lorelei Linklater is consistently excellent as his older sister, Samantha - if anything, we could have done with more of her in the later part of the film. Her early scenes with Mason feel like wonderfully authentic representations of sibling behaviour, with all its fractious adoration. A cautious warmth defines the changing relationship between Mason's divorced parents, who are portrayed with untheatrical honesty by Hawke and Patricia Arquette. There is the sense that all these actors become increasingly at one with their characters as time passes and, presumably, their life experiences somewhat coalesce.
In a recent interview, Linklater addressed this point, suggesting that Mason's personality became inextricably linked with Coltrane's as filming progressed. It's interesting to think that throughout the most trying, socially uncomfortable, physically transformative years of his life, Coltrane had this unfinished other self lurking at the back of his mind - a character whose skin he had to annually inhabit. The sheer scope of Linklater's ambition alone is a recommendation. This is a new kind of filmmaking altogether. Yet crucially, Mason's dramas are our own. His young life is as simple and as complicated as most, and the abiding feeling after watching Boyhood is one of recognition. Despite its radical conception, this film looks to the everyday for its inspiration; to lives seemingly less extraordinary, yet full of fire and possibility.
