As the tagline says: Aura would like you to know that she’s having a very, very hard time. The main character of the indie comedy Tiny Furniture (2010)—played by writer-director Lena Dunham—has just graduated college with a major in film theory, moved back in with her mother and teenage sister, and seems to have no idea what to do with herself. There are worse places to have no idea what to do with yourself than your mother’s incredible New York City loft, but I can still relate to Aura’s ennui. I graduated college with a major in English, moved back in with my mother (not in an incredible New York City loft) and proceeded to spend a year working about 15 hours a week at my old summer job, sending my resume out to a lot of people who preferred not to ever respond, and watching all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls holed up in my tiny bedroom. It can be a rough time.

I think (I certainly hope) that during my difficult post-graduate time I wasn’t quite so oblivious and annoying as Aura can be, though. She describes her own inactivity as the result of being in a “post-graduate delirium,” while leaning heavily on the idea that she recently broke up with someone she thought she would marry and should therefore be cut some slack, though she seems neither particularly heartbroken nor overly fond of the guy. She musters energy when it comes time to head out to a party with some friends, first hitting her mom up for cash (“I hate to be vulgar, but I need to ask you for some money”). She walks around without pants a lot. Generally, she bugs me.

But then come some moments where Aura starts to grow on me. At the party, someone suggests she should ask out a friend of a friend who’s visiting town. Given what the film has shown us of Aura so far, I expected this to be some sort of awkward production. But she is perfectly bold-yet-casual in the interaction, and it goes well. Perhaps Aura regresses when she’s in her family’s home? Or perhaps she puts forth many different versions of herself, to suit the circumstances? Most of us do, and yet observing the phenomenon in another person, even a fictional character, can make one a bit ill at ease.

Even after watching the whole film, I don’t have a grip on Aura. Since this film is a character study, not really following an arc other than delving deeper into Aura’s different moods and masks, I do wish I knew what to make of her by the end of things. We watch her: re-bond with a childhood friend, the spoiled and inappropriately vulgar Charlotte (played by Jemima Kirke, who is great and hilarious); put up for much too long with the aforementioned friend-of-a-friend, who somehow ends up squatting at her place while her mom’s out of town; have an ill-advised flirtation with a chef at the restaurant where she obtains a job as a low-paid day hostess; throw an insane fit worthy of a thirteen-year-old when her mom suggests she should get it together. I’m not sure what to make of all this other than a portrait of a certain kind of restless crazy that one can feel when unsure of what path to follow, or even where any of the paths are. It’s a well-made portrait, filled with endearingly off-kilter moments and unpredictable, biting dialogue, but is there a message to go along with it? Other than, maybe, don’t major in film theory if you have no idea what to do with a degree in film theory?

Perhaps I should give up looking for messages in a certain type of indie film—the ones that just seem to come to a stop, rather than build to an ending. I can enjoy those films—and I did enjoy Tiny Furniture—but I wish they came with a warning label so I don’t try to scratch for something it’s not trying to give me. Further complicating this particular film is the fact that Dunham cast her real-life mother and sister (Laurie Simmons and Grace Dunham, respectively) as her mother and sister in the film. Simmons is an artist and photographer who stages scenes for her camera, as her character does (her photos of miniature furniture give the film its name). The loft the film takes place in is the family’s real home. I didn’t know any of this until after watching, and I find the circumstances a bit fascinating. How much of this film is Dunham’s experiment in exploring a fictional version of herself, and how much of it was to make a film on a small budget with what was on hand? In any case, Dunham’s own degree, in creative writing from Oberlin, seems to be serving her better than Aura’s does. Perhaps Aura is what Dunham believes she would be if she didn’t have filmmaking for her path.

I am intrigued enough by this film to seek out its new Criterion release, out today and sure to contain some illuminating extras. This is the first time the film is out on DVD, and it’s a bit remarkable to have the respected company taking on the duties. Personally I am thrilled to see Criterion taking on such a small production (and one helmed by a woman), but I’ve seen some grumbling about it from those who aren’t fans of the film. The power of the Criterion label, to a certain sub-set of film fans, makes me shake my head a bit. Sure, they put out amazing editions of what they select, and I always get excited when they do one of my favorites (my Broadcast News Blu-ray totally makes me swoon). But when they’re putting out such a wide variety of things, why bother wondering at the reasoning behind each release and getting upset when it’s something you don’t personally deem worthy? Someone at Criterion likes this movie enough to want to give it the treatment. That’s all. Get over it.

Tiny Furniture was Dunham’s second feature-length film, at the age of 23. She’ll continue her work in making me feel like a shameful underachiever when her HBO comedy series Girls premieres later this year.