4.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, occasional coarse language and fleeting drug content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.26.15
Little movies, absent shrieking
publicity campaigns, have the potential to become unexpected treasures ... and
this is one of the best I’ve seen in awhile.
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| After dryly dispensing another nugget of bewildering, utterly useless "advice," Greg's father (Nick Offerman, center) offers his newest culinary nightmare — pig's feet — to Greg (Thomas Mann, right) and Earl (RJ Cyler) |
Every generation gets its share
of heartfelt dramas purporting to reflect the high school experience; some
become classics, embraced by their target audiences due to a savvy blend of
snarky wit and often uncomfortable intimacy. The modern cycle probably began
with Fast Times at Ridgemont High and The Breakfast Club, while more recent
examples include Juno, Rocket Science and The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
Director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon’s
touching rendition of Jesse Andrews’ impressive writing debut — the
Salinger-esque young adult novel, Me and Earl and the Dying Girl — belongs in
their company. With the leaders of the pack.
Andrews has adapted his own book
here, and it’s hard to know where to begin, with respect to the film’s many
highlights. The casting is excellent, from the spot-on main characters to the
off-center adults orbiting around them: the latter a droll touch, since teens
always believe that adults inhabit an entirely different universe.
The dialogue is sharp and well
delivered, the mordant, angst-ridden tone a painful reminder of high school
disenfranchisement. This is also one of very few films to make excellent use of
its main character’s off-camera commentary: reflections and asides — complete
with narrative subtitles — that genuinely advance the storyline, as opposed to
merely re-stating the obvious.
My favorite bit, though, has to
be Andrews’ scathing, drop-dead-perfect description of high school’s clique-ish
nature, as explained by the morose Greg Gaines (Thomas Mann), a quiet,
withdrawn kid who has made an art of navigating the social minefield by
remaining as anonymous as possible. I couldn’t begin to do justice to Greg’s
dissection of his school’s various factions, and paragraphs would be wasted in
a failed attempt.
Besides which, that would spoil
your delight upon hearing this discerning, mocking analysis from Greg’s own
lips.
Before reaching that point,
though, viewers must navigate the rather bizarre waters of Greg’s introduction
to his own story: the saga of his senior year in high school, introduced with
an unexpected blend of dour self-loathing and ... stop-motion animation. The
“look” of the latter feels much like a Wes Anderson project, which makes sense;
this film is co-produced by Jeremy Dawson, whose career began in animation, and
who has collaborated with Anderson several times, notably on Fantastic Mr.
Fox.
Granted, this is a bit much to
absorb right off the bat, but roll with it; there’s a method to Rejon and
Andrews’ madness, and you’ll soon realize that these faux-clumsy, stop-motion
touches have a purpose, and blend smoothly with what is to come.
Greg is recounting the events of
the previous year from a later vantage point, looking back; like most of us,
he’s not the most organized narrator, jumping from one detail to another,
rather than proceeding in a strictly linear fashion. We therefore get the
relevant details in fits and starts, beginning with his utterly hopeless
parents.
Mom (Connie Britton) is a
hectoring micro-manager of her only son’s life, to the point of driving the
poor kid into frustrated fury. Dad (Nick Offerman, deadpan hilarious) is the
exact opposite: a trés weird apparition clad in a bathrobe at all hours,
infamous for hideous culinary creations, who dispenses what he believes is sage
wisdom that draws only baffled stares.
Dad always seems to be home,
despite his supposed full-time job: a magic trick he pulls off because he’s a
tenured sociology professor at a nearby college.
All by itself, that’s both a
marvelous one-liner and a biting social observation. Andrews’ script is full of
such witticisms, landing so rapidly at times that you’ll need to watch this
film at least twice, because audience laughter will bury too much dialogue the
first time.
Greg’s only companion is the
laconic Earl (RJ Cyler), a far more savvy kid who regards our hero with
stone-faced amusement, cutting to the core of any issue with a few
breathtakingly blunt words. Greg, so pathologically withdrawn that he refuses
to even use the term “friend,” regards Earl as his “co-worker.”
Whatever the label, the boys have
hung out together for a decade and change, enduring Greg’s father’s bizarre
food creations, watching obscure foreign and arthouse films, and — here’s the
kicker — making their own amateur movies. Their gimmick involves linguistically
twisting the titles of existing highbrow classics, and then fashioning
satirical storylines that reference the originals: a scheme, as Greg cheerfully
confesses in voiceover, guaranteed to produce awful results.
Maybe so. To our eyes, though,
these amateur creations are side-splitting, their blend of live action, sock
puppets and papier-mâché animation wreaking havoc in projects ranging from The
Seven Seals and A Sockwork Orange to Breathe Less and My Dinner with
Andre the Giant. Best of all, these fleeting glimpses of the Greg-and-Earl
oeuvre often are accompanied by music from the lampooned originals.
The point here is that Greg’s
self-mocking analysis of his own saga is flippant and airy by design ... until,
suddenly, it isn’t. Which is pretty much the self-defensive approach taken by
all folks too terrified to confront their actual feelings, until being
overwhelmed by them.
Things turn serious when Greg
learns that a classmate, Rachel (Olivia Cooke), has just been diagnosed with
leukemia. Despite the fact that Greg has no history with this girl, and doesn’t
even really know her to say hello, his Mom insists that it would be a “good
thing” if he spent some time with her. Showed her that he cared. Which, of
course, he doesn’t ... so what good would that do?
But Mom is not to be denied, and
so Greg shambles over to Rachel’s house, where he first must navigate past her
mother: a mildly inebriated and awkwardly friendly figure (Molly Shannon) who
makes us all uncomfortable. Until we recognize this self-defensive misery for
what it is.
Rachel, perceptive girl, wants
nothing to do with Greg; “pity hang-time” is worse than a pity date. But Greg
fears his mother’s disappointed censure more than Rachel’s mildly angry
rejection, and so he refuses to leave.
“If this were a classic love
story,” Greg’s off-camera self observes, certain predictable things would
happen as a result of this initial encounter. But it isn’t that sort of story,
as he keeps reminding us, and that’s the truth: Andrews’ script — and
Gomez-Rejon’s film — are much smarter than that.
Mann, anchoring this film with a
breakout performance certain to make him a solid Hollywood force, is blessed
with an expressive face that speaks volumes in complete silence. Greg is
self-denial personified: a kid so wrapped up in not “posing” that he fails to
recognize that social isolation has made him miserable.
We spend the entire movie waiting
for him to smile, and I’m not sure he ever really does. But we’re no less
certain about his regrets, fears and heartache ... and by the fact that he
quickly grows to adore and even love Rachel, although he’d likely never admit
it. And probably lacks the words to do so anyway.
Mann’s impressively layered
performance is riveting; merely watching him stand, immobile, trying to
determine how to react to something Rachel has just said, is a pageant of
emotional torment.
Cooke’s work is equally subtle
and compelling. Rachel is by turns wary, effervescent and vulnerable. We know
that she can see through Greg’s artifice, but for the most part she allows him
the dignity of believing that she doesn’t. Because we only see Rachel through
Greg’s eyes, Cooke has an extremely difficult assignment: to convey this girl’s
warmth and emotional complexities in response to his input. She succeeds
brilliantly.
We’ve been hit with a minor epidemic
of teen “death drama” adaptations lately, with skilled young actresses
navigating the morose waters of big-screen versions of If I Stay and The Fault in Our Stars. Cooke’s sensitive performance here, though, is its own unique
creation: proof, once again, that acting talent can overcome a role that veers
dangerously close to cliché.
The stone-faced Cyler is a hoot
as Earl: another deftly shaded performance that relies heavily on well-timed
silence, before the arrival of a brief but oh-so-perceptive remark. Katherine
C. Hughes makes a memorable “agent of destruction” as Madison, one of the
school’s highly dangerous girls because, in Greg’s eyes, she’s cute enough to
wrap any guy around her little finger.
Jon Bernthal, recognized from
TV’s The Walking Dead, pops up as Greg’s way-cool, heavily tattooed history
teacher, Mr. McCarthy: the sort of instructor we’d kill to have had, during our
own tempestuous high school career. Bernthal nails his character’s blend of
acceptance and understanding, allowing Greg and Earl to hang out in his office,
and granting both the space to be themselves, and find their own way. No
surprise, then, that Mr. McCarthy — despite his own eccentricities — is this
story’s lone “serious” adult.
It’s difficult to know where this
story is heading, and you’re better off going with the flow, rather than trying
to figure it out. Greg tells us one thing; Andrews’ script suggests other
possibilities; Gomez-Rejon’s often schizophrenic tone seems to further muddy
the waters ... until it doesn’t.
Things build to a powerful
climax, and a last-minute reveal, that you’ll never see coming: one that
produces an emotional wallop that will linger for days, months, perhaps even
years.
This is one for the ages. Expect
copies of Andrews’ book to fly off the shelves, and/or into your electronic
gadget of choice.
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