Supernova

In 15-year-old Meis' house, everybody is waiting for the next car to crash. It's situated at a bend in a long road through flat fields. Her father came along here, too fast, and that's how her parents met and how he became unfit for work, leading to ongoing tensions between the once-happy couple. Her mother talks about leaving, flirts with strangers, implies, perhaps, that the next crash will bring her a new lover. To add to her frustrations, her aging mother has stopped speaking and shakes all the time. She puts on her mother's high heels and climbs up on the rooftop with binoculars, perhaps looking for a sign of hope. She lies down in the middle of the road, hoping a car will run her over. She sits on the old wooden pier watching the boats sail toward the city. Talking about boredom isn't easy. She uses the language of physics. She's waiting for a collision; any kind of collision, to release some energy. In the meantime, she makes do and makes out with a lesbian best friend who is probably in love with her. At night she walks to a half-built bridge where bikers gather, watching them from the long grass. She's looking for trouble but even even if she finds it, can it possibly be enough to satisfy all this yearning? —Jennie Kermode