4.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for drug and alcohol use, sexual candor and brief violence
By Derrick Bang
Judging by the number of
perceptive, achingly poignant high school misfit dramas produced over the
years, being unpopular must’ve been a whole lot more popular than it seemed at
the time.
 |
| After unknowingly devouring some marijuana-laced brownies, Charlie (Logan Lerman, center) unintentionally becomes the hilarious star of his first party. But new friends Sam (Emma Watson) and Patrick (Ezra Miller) ignore this opportunity to humiliate him, instead taking care to ensure that Charlie survives the experience with his dignity (mostly) intact. |
Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of
Being a Wallflower, published in 1999, has sold more than a million copies and
become something of a modern Catcher in the Rye (an earlier classic, perhaps
not coincidentally, said to be a favorite of Chbosky’s young protagonist). Perks also has the distinction of being one of the top entries in the
American Library Association’s list of most frequently challenged and banned
books, in 2004 and from ’06 through ’09 (where it peaked, at No. 3) ... which,
in my mind, merely proves that Chbosky did an excellent job.
Hollywood naturally came calling,
but Chbosky held onto his baby, mindful of the many horror stories revolving
around successful authors who had seen their popular works destroyed by other
hands. Meanwhile, he nurtured his varied talents by scripting the 2005 film
adaptation of Rent and creating, writing and producing the 2006-08 TV series Jericho. A decade earlier, he also wrote, directed and produced The Four
Corners of Nowhere, a little-seen 1995 indie film which I suspect is about to
be rescued from obscurity.
Point being, Chbosky earned the
right to script and direct Perks, and has done a commendable job. His
angst-ridden saga of emotional isolation is well cast, impeccably acted, sensitively
directed and — no surprise here — impressively faithful to the book. The film
will be embraced both by young readers who devoured the epistolary novel, and
by older movie fans who remember seeing themselves in John Hughes’ equally
insightful teen dramas of the late 1980s (Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast
Club and others).
Perks is, in short, destined to
become one of the defining teen dramas of the early 21st century.
The year is 1991, as the
precocious but socially awkward Charlie (Logan Lerman) begins his first morning
as a freshman at Pittsburgh’s Mill Grove High School. He arrives in quiet
terror, already counting down the days until he can flee as a graduating
senior.
He’s smart and perceptive, easily
able to answer his English teacher’s introductory questions ... but only
privately, in his opened notebook, rather than risking peer censure by raising
his hand and branding himself a teacher’s pet. But the instructor, Mr. Anderson
(Paul Rudd), notices; a tentative bond is formed.
Charlie is damaged goods,
carrying considerable pain and a vague reference to having spent time in a
“mental hospital.” He confides these fears, along with his hopes and longings,
in lengthy letters written to an anonymous person he’s never met. (These
letters are the means by which Chbosky’s book unfolds.)
Despite terminal shyness and an
utter inability to cultivate any friends, Charlie gamely shows up at the
essential high school rituals, where he quietly tries to blend into the
background. We get a vague sense that he “tries” in this fashion not because of
personal desire, but more to satisfy his well-meaning parents (Dylan McDermott,
Kate Walsh) and older sister, Candace (Nina Dobrev), who seem unusually
concerned about him.
Charlie finally makes a
connection at a high school football game, when he recognizes a boisterous fan
as Patrick (Ezra Miller), the flamboyant slacker who made such an impression in
shop class. Patrick, naturally friendly, invites Charlie to sit alongside;
they’re soon joined by Patrick’s step-sister, Sam (Emma Watson).
Sam, who doesn’t miss much,
recognizes that Charlie lacks friends; during an unguarded moment, he also
acknowledges a recent tragedy that has contributed to the cloud of despair that
seems to hover nearby, waiting to envelop him. Despite being seniors, Patrick
and Sam therefore welcome Charlie into their gang, which the coquettish Sam
dubs “the island of misfit toys.”
This group includes Mary
Elizabeth (Mae Whitman), a bossy, self-professed Goth Buddhist punk; Alice
(Erin Wilhelmi), who adores Mary Elizabeth and likes to shoplift jeans; Bob
(Adam Hagenbuch), purveyor of marijuana-laced brownies; and Craig (Reece
Thompson), the focus of Sam’s romantic attention. They’re all outcasts
themselves, having perfected the art of not giving a damn, and therefore less
apt to be targeted for humiliation at the hands of the usual school bullies and
contemptuous snots.
But each of Charlie’s new friends
carries secrets and comes with emotionally crippling baggage. We viewers get
the message first, but Charlie gradually perceives the same: He’s by no means
the only oddball in the world. This welcoming brood is nothing but misfit toys.
Although all three leads are
sensational, Watson is positively luminescent. The girl we watched grow up as Hermione
Granger is a thoughtful, articulate, talented and impressively discerning
actress. On a superficial level, Watson’s Sam is radiant, flirty and sensual:
the epitome of the “perfect girl” Chbosky envisioned, with whom Charlie
naturally falls in love. How could he not?
But Sam is far deeper than her
surface wild child; she perceives Charlie’s infatuation but does not betray it.
She also has a tempestuous, even scandalous past, the details of which have
scarred her badly ... and, as the story progresses, Watson’s expressive
features reveal the degree to which each incident left Sam a bit more
fragmented. And although she has fought through the misery, in order to
manifest the free-spirited sophisticate who delights her peers, the effort has
cost her. We see it in Watson’s eyes, particularly during her scenes with
Charlie.
It’s stunning, really, because we
can almost read Sam’s thoughts, from one moment to the next. Watson is that
good.
Miller’s Patrick is the ostentatious
yin to Charlie’s repressed yang: strong, self-assured and loyal to the core.
He’s the guy who will scorn convention in favor of sticking up for an underdog:
No surprise, then, that Patrick is the first to embrace Charlie’s presence.
Miller truly seizes the moment — and the film, at times — by making his
character so much larger than life: the smart-ass class clown.
Patrick also is gay and proud of
it: a hazardous lifestyle choice, in 1991 Pittsburgh. And this, of course,
plays to what remains concealed beneath the carefree extrovert he shows the
world. Even Patrick has his buttons, which dare not be pushed, and the lines
that should not be crossed. No surprise, as well, that he ultimately trusts
Charlie with such intimate details.
Despite being surrounded by such
scene-stealers, Lerman successfully holds focus, in part because he’s so adept
at conveying Charlie’s complex personality. At first, Charlie is little more
than the cork bobbing to the actions of his new friends: the naïf acted upon by everybody else.
Eventually, though, as his confidence grows, he becomes brave enough for modest
efforts at independent thought and behavior.
Whitman, all growed up after kid
roles in One Fine Day and Hope Floats, and regular stints on TV series such
as Chicago Hope and Arrested Development, is a hoot as the group control
freak: the girl who uses anger as a coping mechanism to conceal her own
loneliness.
Chbosky covers myriad sidebar
issues, all of which play a role in Charlie’s eventual discovery of self. He’s
genuinely concerned that his sister’s boyfriend — Nicholas Braun, as “Ponytail
Derek” — seems to be physically abusing her. Back in English class, after
initial reluctance, Charlie develops a strong rapport with Mr. Anderson, who
provides a series of inspirational books as extra-credit assignments: The
Catcher in the Rye, The Great Gatsby, Walden and many others.
Rudd, too frequently slumming in
moron comedies, delivers a finely modulated performance here, making Mr.
Anderson the teacher we’d all love to have.
Everybody has the most fun with
the audience-participation “floor show” enhancement to the nearby Dormont
Hollywood Theater’s midnight screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, with Patrick, Sam and Mary Elizabeth enthusiastically — and quite salaciously —
mimicking the on-screen action.
As Hughes did with his 1980s teen
fables, Chbosky takes great care with his rock- and pop-inflected score,
assembling a mix-tape Top 10 of emotional anthems such as “Asleep” (The
Smiths), “Come On Eileen” (Dexy’s Midnight Runners), “Dear God” (XTC) and
“Teenage Riot” (Sonic Youth). There’s also the matter of what Sam calls “the
tunnel song,” first heard as she hurtles through Pittsburgh’s Fort Pitt Tunnel,
while standing in the back of a pickup truck: the film’s most breathtakingly iconic,
music-and-images moment.
If that moment doesn’t make your
blood race — indeed, if many of this film’s moments don’t do the same — then
you obviously weren’t a wallflower.
Your loss, apparently.
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