Admission stars Fey as a Princeton admissions officer who ends up unexpectedly pulling a few strings to help Wolff’s character get into college.
Imagine you’re Tina Fey. The acclaimed sitcom you created, produced, wrote for and starred in has just ended. You’re a beloved personality with a well-received memoir to your name and enough natural charisma that you can even succeed at a fool’s errand like hosting the Golden Globes.
So what do you do next?
Starring in Admission, an exceedingly mild romantic comedy about a college admissions officer from director Paul Weitz (Being Flynn), would not seem an obvious next step. It’s akin to nervously dipping your toe in the water after you’ve already performed a cannonball.
But if Admission lacks the spark of wit Saturday Night Live, Mean Girls and 30 Rock have led us to expect from Fey, it’s also a testament to the fact that her charm shines even when she’s put through the motions of an uninspired script. After seven seasons of working as a showrunner — one of the most demanding jobs in entertainment — perhaps playing a minor but respectable character piece is a welcome break, both from the demanding workload and the emotions of a goodbye season.
“Ending was OK; it was such a bittersweet feeling,” Fey said. “But everyone got to say goodbye in the most thorough way. We’re still moving our junk out of our offices, and Girls is moving in.”
In the film, Fey plays a Princeton admissions officer who’s contacted by an old college friend (Paul Rudd, Prince Avalanche) who wants her to accept one of the students at the alternative high school he runs, a prodigy (Nat Wolff, Stuck in Love) too bored by traditional education to apply himself and build a resume.
Most films would focus on the inevitable budding romance between Fey and Rudd, and Admission is no exception, but it unexpectedly and wisely spends as much time on Wolff’s application process as it does on a generic will-they-won’t-they subplot.
The light-as-a-feather romance is as forgettable as they come, despite starring two of the most likable movie stars on the planet, but the film distinguishes itself by delving into the maddening world of college admissions, which it documents with precision and just the slightest edge of satire. There’s a certain devious glee to the way the dean of admissions (Wallace Shawn, A Late Quartet, one of the film’s handful of ace supporting players) rejects even the most overachieving of overachievers.
Many of the details will feel nauseatingly familiar to anyone who has known the stresses of SATs, APs, ACTs, essays and all the other implements of torture inherent to the application process.
Perhaps some of that sense of accuracy comes from the fact that Wolff, a current high school senior, was shooting the film as he was applying to college himself. Fey announced his SAT score on set, and he even went to a college fair in character.
“I really hit it off with the MIT guy,” Wolff said. “They still call me twice a week.”
At its worst, Admission has the airtight, bloodless feel of a work beholden to formula and focus testing, but there’s a quiet, workmanlike conviction to it that keeps it on the right side of the thin line between competency and mediocrity.
Weitz isn’t trying to set the world on fire with Admission, but the characters and situations are more real than not, which is a compliment that can be paid to far too few films. It’s a deliberately small film, but its modest scope allows it to take the time to invest in its characters with that much more life and detail — it’s consistently just a little bit smarter than you expect it to be.
The film is built on a broad, bland rom-com structure, but it’s delicate enough with the small details that the building ends up stronger than the foundation. It doesn’t end with a kiss or a grand declaration of love but with an unexpected and morally ambiguous act that upends the narrative and redefines the characters.
Weitz, Fey and Rudd are united in their focus on characters as the film’s driving force, and it’s this ethos that elevates the film. The narrative is driven by personalities, not by the necessities of genre, as is so often the case.
“The characters in a comedy don’t know they’re being funny,” Weitz said.
“You don’t want to go back and add people falling down the stairs,” Fey added. “You just play the tone that’s on the page.”
