Four stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.27.20
One can’t help being amazed by the synchronicity between Grace VanderWaal and Jerry Spinelli’s 2000 young adult novel.
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| When Leo (Graham Verchere) finally works up the courage to introduce himself to Stargirl (Grace VanderWaal), he finds her inquisitive candor even more enchanting than her colorfully eccentric wardrobe choices. Not to mention her pet rat. |
The heroine of Spinelli’s deservedly popular best-seller is a cheerfully nonconformist high school girl who — among other quirks — brings a ukulele to school each day, in order to sing “Happy Birthday” to deserving classmates (whether or not they desire such attention).
Sixteen years later after that book’s debut, VanderWaal won American’s Got Talent at age 12 (!), by performing her original songs … accompanying herself on ukulele.
As far as I know, she never has claimed direct inspiration from Spinelli’s book … which makes her having been cast in the film adaptation, well, quite inspired.
The obvious question: Can she also act?
Oh, my, yes.
Director Julia Hart’s big-screen adaptation of Stargirl, available via the streaming service Disney+, is a tender coming-of-age saga: charming, poignant and bittersweet by turns. The screenplay — by Hart, Kristin Hahn and Jordan Horowitz — is faithful to the spirit and tone of Spinelli’s book, along with its core plot beats. That said, they’ve softened some of its harsher sequences, while bringing the story into the social media present (which, as we all know, can be brutal in its own way).
VanderWaal and co-star Graham Verchere, just two years older than she — and isn’t it nice, to see these characters played by age-appropriate actors? — are splendid on screen together. They’re natural, uncomplicated and unfussy: endearingly authentic as high school students, even given her character’s eccentric nature.
But that’s getting ahead of things. We’re introduced first to Leo Borlock (Verchere), who as a younger adolescent lost his father and — ever since — has cherished the absent parent’s whimsical porcupine necktie. In an effort to forge a new life for them, Leo’s mother (Darby Stanchfield) moves them to the serene desert community of Mica, Ariz.
Leo’s initial exposure to Mica High School cruelly demonstrates the folly of standing out from the crowd, and — during the next several years — he slides into quiet conformity. It’s easy to do at this school, where absolutely nothing happens. The football team never has won a game; the hallway trophy case displays nothing but spider webs; the school marching band — wherein Leo plays trumpet — is absolutely dreadful (wincingly so).
Hart and editors Shayar Bhansali and Tracey Wadmore-Smith economically sketch this back-story material in montage, while an off-camera Leo narrates his own saga (from something of a remove, we realize, which is telling).
Leo has developed a posse of close friends: Kevin (Karan Brar), head of the debate team, and host of the school’s hard-hitting (ahem) talk show, Hot Seat; the well-named Benny Burrito (Collin Blackford), constantly eating, but never gaining weight; and Tess (Annacheska Brown), quieter and more studious, who serves as the quartet’s savvy moral compass.
This particular day, Leo’s 16th birthday, begins like any other … allowing for the fact that rumors and questions are flying in school: “Have you seen her?”
The tranquility of lunch period suddenly is shattered by the entrance of a jaw-dropping force of nature: a girl dressed in the flamboyant colors of a boardwalk performer, her hair done in a quasi-Dutch style; a pet rat wandering from her backpack to shoulder, and back again; a radiant smile beaming, like sunrise, from ear to ear. She purposefully strolls over toward Leo, pulls a ukulele from the backpack…
(Watching this in mounting terror, abruptly hurled back to our own embarrassing high school years, Constant Companion and I muttered “Oh, gawd, no…”)
…and sings “Happy Birthday” to Leo, while he sits, a panicked plea of God-make-me-vanish on his frozen features. The song concluded, the girl turns and walks away.
This is Stargirl Caraway, home-schooled until her senior year, when she decided that exposure to a “real school” would be … interesting. Having therefore grown up in an environment absent social conformity, peer pressure or bullying, she’s 100 percent herself: a truly unique individual, and proud of it.
No, not proud; comfortable. Wholly at ease in her own skin.
She’s quirky and spontaneous, prone to acts of random kindness. One comes shortly thereafter, when — following yet another anemic “performance” by the marching band and cheerleading squad, in anticipation of (almost certainly) another dismal football defeat — Stargirl suddenly appears on the field, pulls out her ukulele, and delivers an inspirational solo cover of The Beach Boys’ “Be True to Your School.”
Does she worry about making a fool of herself? Not a bit.
VanderWaal’s handling of this song begins softly, almost hesitantly, before building in passion, intensity and sincerity, strengthened further by a megawatt smile that could power major cities. She repeats this delivery style throughout the film; Stargirl isn’t quite a musical, but it’s certainly laden with music.
Indeed, music also is a key part of this story’s moral. “It’s cool that a song can be about whoever you want it to be about,” Leo observes, during a moment of uncharacteristic candor. “It doesn’t matter what the words say.”
He’s referring to The Cars’ “Just What I Needed,” which also plays a crucial role.
Needless to say, this story also reminds us to cherish uniqueness and eccentricity … which, of course, is that last thing most high school students wish to be known for. And there’s no denying — as Stargirl becomes an ever-stronger part of Leo’s life, thereby shattering his cloak of protective conformity — our growing apprehension that The Other Shoe Is About To Drop.
Hart elicits an aura of almost otherworldly mysticism from VanderWaal, who wholly personifies Stargirl’s buoyant effervescence. This is crucial, because much of her New Age-y behavior would come off as corny, her wide-eyed philosophies prompting derisive snickers, if VanderWaal’s performance weren’t so ingenuously sincere.
And then, in the blink of an eye, she suddenly becomes a typically impulsive, giggly teenage girl, as when Stargirl steals a kiss from Leo.
Verchere gets considerable mileage from his own shy smile, and half-turn of the head, particularly when something surprises Leo. Hart and her co-scripters also handle the boy’s parental bond with sensitivity; a mother/son heart-to-heart is delivered superbly by Stanchfield and Verchere. The latter also punctuates his off-camera narration with frankness, wistfulness and the perspective that comes from looking back.
Giancarlo Esposito has a warm supporting role as Leo’s paleontologist friend Archie Brubaker, who runs a summer camp for kids, and has become something of a father figure for the boy. Archie clearly knows more about Stargirl than he’s willing to share, but it’s less a matter of keeping “secrets,” and more a function of allowing Leo to learn things for himself.
Hart unerringly maintains an atmosphere of heartfelt sweetness and sincerity throughout: an impressive feat, considering that one false move — a single line, badly delivered — would puncture this enchanting little fable like a flattened soufflé. But she and her co-writers constantly unveil little surprises that further heighten this story’s spirit; I’m particularly enchanted by the unexpectedly revelation of how Leo and Kevin first met.
We all could use a little magic, these days, and Stargirl certainly delivers.
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