Last month, n + 1 published an astute take on the unusually intelligent treatment of social stratification in Tiny Furniture, Lena Dunham’s celebrated 2010 feature film. Rather than offer any detailed thoughts on the essay, I’ll share a brief passage:

It’s true that most movies are made by rich people, but it’s also true that most movies represent rich people as investment bankers or drug dealers. We know they are rich people because they have fancy cell phones and swimming pools, which are the same blue all over the world, like the sky. Such anodyne images of wealth are part of a larger conspiracy of vagueness that imagines every young person as an architect. How do people actually make money, and how much? Nobody will tell us. What sets Tiny Furniture apart is its attention to minor distinctions—to the fine differences within the upper and upper-middle class, like the one between the father who pays his daughter’s security deposit and the father who buys her the apartment. The movie shows us how wealth, privilege, and power actually manifest themselves—seemingly incidental particularities that are actually crucial to their growth and continued consolidation.

The essay reads at times like a gentle admonishment of readers prone to class envy, or like a thoughtful elucidation of the sources of class envy. I recommend the essay and the film itself, but I should also note that the film isn’t everyone’s cup of tea and that I’ll watch almost anything. Indeed, I saw the megaflop John Carter twice in 3-D and I enjoyed it both times, so clearly I can’t be trusted.