Andrew Bujalski continues his refreshing brand of lo-fi relationship dramedy in Mutual Appreciation, his follow-up to his terrific debut film Funny Ha Ha. While that film was first and foremost a character study of a single young woman (played magnificently by Kate Dollenmayer, who shows up briefly in this film), Bujalski’s latest subtly shifts its attention between three characters. Alan (Justin Rice), a struggling musician, shows up in New York City to jumpstart his music career with the hopes of a hipper, more supportive scene, and gets to meet up with an old friend of his, Lawrence (Bujalski), and Lawrence’s girlfriend Ellie (Rachel Clift). While naturally following these three characters around both their workspaces (an underpopulated music gig, Lawrence’s TA office hours, Ellie’s magazine desk) and their down time (post-gig drinking parties, mattresses on Brooklyn apartment floors), the film starts with Alan’s hope to re-form a band in New York City, and therefrom subtly pivots to focus on Ellie’s commitment to Lawrence, and eventually pivoting again, briefly, to Lawrence’s own attachment to both his friends. Everything, as they say, comes full circle, but it is the ingenuity of the script (which feels so improvised, yet upon reflection is so tightly and thematically arranged) that lets the narrative seem to glide from Alan to Ellis to Lawrence when really the film is about only Alan. His wayward search, which he strongly asserts is not for happiness—happiness does not interest him—has him looking for a regular job, band members, musical fame, a way to communicate with his father, and a way to break up with an awkward relationship with an overly interested radio DJ, and Alan generally goes through this oblique quest half-drunk and mostly unsure of his direction. But, as in a crucial scene where, after driving Alan home, Ellis lets slip a criticism of her boyfriend, the answer is in the film’s clever title. Like in Alan’s fantasy of a cool-person club of professional young adults who support each other’s life projects when in need, mutuality, in the best of circumstances, can be a lifesaver. But wrong choices can still be made with this appreciation, and as Alan and Ellis get to know each other better, their supportive connection has the possibility of waylaying Alan, Lawrence, and Ellis’ chances to keep together.

The smartness of the construction of Mutual Appreciation is all the more affecting because it easily hides beneath a veneer of naturalism. Bujalski’s aesthetic of faux-improvised dialog, utilizing all the awkward pauses, faltering lack of eloquence, and stream of consciousness that gives the impression everyone is speaking their mind, in the moment, when coupled with the sheer banality of the Brooklyn locations exudes an observational simplicity that belays the sharp, structured script at the film’s heart. Especially because of Alan’s need to drink to both feel comfortable and express himself, and his eventual try-and-try-again twice over plot, first with the overly appreciative DJ and later with Ellie, Mutual Appreciation often feels like a naturalistic Hong Sang-soo film. Because of that director’s highly structured way of directing his characters through rhythmic plot points, this unexpected comparison warrants a far closer look at the way Bujalski organizes his stories and his character portrayal than his aesthetic seems to ask from the audience. Characters seem to simply exist, scenes and locations appear inconsequential to the drama (though not necessarily so for the comedy), and narrative progression stalls in the movie’s rhythm of lengthy—but not long—conversations that superficially go nowhere. And while Mutual Appreciation lacks the centralized focus of the charm and watchability of Dollenmayer’s crucial performance, it tries to move beyond singular character reliance and flirts more with similar conflicts mirrored between friends at different stages in their lives, all within the same social circle.

Bujalski also has a unique way of filming these conflicts, here shot in a flattened but far from dulled black and white by Matthias Grunsky. Conversations are shot almost entirely in close-up (or, occasionally, and usually hilariously, in uncomfortable medium shots that emphasis the places of awkwardness—a bed as the only place for a man and a woman to sit, or the drinking paraphernalia lying around a kitchen), and the shots are often odd, almost unflattering and certainly unconventional, angles of the actors’ faces. The effect, especially with the director’s surprisingly concise coverage, nearly sequence-shot like editing, and preference for staging scenes against a bland series of shabby interiors, is a look remarkably similar to one of snap-shots—loose and searching for a feeling that is slightly uncomfortable in the attempt to appear immediate. In other words, the camera seems carefully placed, but carefully placed in a way that feels impromptu and almost not thought-out. Just so—like the screenplay, the naturalistic acting, and this seemingly casual filmmaking, Bujalski ingeniously emphasizes the apparent plainness of the decisions and obstacles mounted by his characters. We see, as they do, the everyday-ness of completely ordinary situations and places for decisions. But the audience is privileged because, unlike Alan, we know these obstacles and decisions have been placed in front of him for a reason, as a challenge, and for a point. It is undeniably powerful how Bujalski emphasizes the gravity and subtly of life’s minute twists, turns, and challenges by making them almost pass beneath the radar as they do in real life. Encapsulated in film, the everydayness gathers far more meaning than one would give similar scenes in one’s own life credit for. What is so refreshing about Andrew Bujalski’s filmmaking is his respect for, and subtly exploration of, the structures and the meaning of everyday life.