What is a masterwork -- Phoebe Gloeckner's graphic novel hybrid -- that roundly condemns patriarchal privilege and the exploitation of young women and girls, here turns into a very careful take on a young's girl's exploration of her sexuality that is rote, unenlightening, devoid of any feeling, and ultimately uninteresting.
Certainly, film versions of novels are different beasts, and I suppose one shouldn't expect faithfulness to the original. But this movie loses its way in that it can't really deal with the subject of exploitation and so, being careful not to veer into said exploitation, makes sure that the subject of sex is as non-erotic as possible.
You can't really tell if Minnie has lost her way, or if she is confused, or full of contradictory emotions, or just a mopey teen. She *appears* to be all these things -- but the tonal flatness of the entire enterprise results in a portrait of a young girl you could not care less about.
Bel Powley's wide-eyed and round-faced blandness fails to convey any complex emotions. Sure, she cries and she gets angry...but to what end? Since the film is so flat, the crises and shocks depicted (having sex with Munroe, doing drugs, hooking up with Tabitha, being "bold" about want to "f**k f**k f**k") are about as interesting as having a big mac. Minnie's final thought about Munroe -- "I'm better than you, you son of a bitch" -- is supposed to gather together, for Minnie and for the reader/viewer, what Minnie has learnt, in overcoming the overweening pretentiousness of men like Munroe. But the knowing smile of Minnie in the graphic novel is replaced by Powley looking half-stupid, to no end.
The film replaces the novel's near-catharsis with some pithy bromides about Minnie, supposedly wiser now, saying she doesn't need a man and intimating that you need to love yourself first. Yeah, another 15-year-old wise beyond her years.
The final insult is that Minnie dances in that kooky, indie way, that is so contemporary, like girls dancing to Feist's 2007 "1234." Girls and women didn't dance like that in 1976. (I know; I was there.)
Better luck next time.
Certainly, film versions of novels are different beasts, and I suppose one shouldn't expect faithfulness to the original. But this movie loses its way in that it can't really deal with the subject of exploitation and so, being careful not to veer into said exploitation, makes sure that the subject of sex is as non-erotic as possible.
You can't really tell if Minnie has lost her way, or if she is confused, or full of contradictory emotions, or just a mopey teen. She *appears* to be all these things -- but the tonal flatness of the entire enterprise results in a portrait of a young girl you could not care less about.
Bel Powley's wide-eyed and round-faced blandness fails to convey any complex emotions. Sure, she cries and she gets angry...but to what end? Since the film is so flat, the crises and shocks depicted (having sex with Munroe, doing drugs, hooking up with Tabitha, being "bold" about want to "f**k f**k f**k") are about as interesting as having a big mac. Minnie's final thought about Munroe -- "I'm better than you, you son of a bitch" -- is supposed to gather together, for Minnie and for the reader/viewer, what Minnie has learnt, in overcoming the overweening pretentiousness of men like Munroe. But the knowing smile of Minnie in the graphic novel is replaced by Powley looking half-stupid, to no end.
The film replaces the novel's near-catharsis with some pithy bromides about Minnie, supposedly wiser now, saying she doesn't need a man and intimating that you need to love yourself first. Yeah, another 15-year-old wise beyond her years.
The final insult is that Minnie dances in that kooky, indie way, that is so contemporary, like girls dancing to Feist's 2007 "1234." Girls and women didn't dance like that in 1976. (I know; I was there.)
Better luck next time.