It can’t be some class recognition, since I grew up working class, and couldn’t help but regard the people in Stillman’s movies as very nearly as exotic as the tuxedoed and gowned debutantes and society types in a Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movie.
At first it was their candour and articulate banter I adored, and I once imagined that the world might be a better place if people could talk about their anxiety and motivation this frankly. (I’ve since discarded this youthful optimism; feelings, honestly expressed, aren’t necessarily truthful or factual. It took a while to figure out that most of the characters in his films seemingly applying for the position of narrator were less than reliable. So it is with life.)