Sigh.
All that was fresh, clever and endearing about 2020’s Stargirl, is missing in this ill-advised sequel.
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| Over twin Shirley Temples, Stargirl (Grace VanderWaal, right) tries to find out why Roxanne Martel (Uma Thurman) abandoned the music scene so many years ago, after the well-received release of her one and only album. |
Sadly, this “packaging” particularly applies to Grace VanderWaal. Gone is the bubbly, fresh-faced, free-spirited and wholly natural 16-year-old who starred in the first film. She has been replaced by an overly poised and coifed runway model whose gamine look has been based on Jean Seberg’s appearance in 1960’s Breathless.
And, my goodness, the make-up. Way too much, particularly with the overdone Elizabeth Taylor/Cleopatra eyes. I cannot imagine what make-up supervisor Geno Freeman was thinking.
The result? VanderWaal has been transformed into another of the interchangeable Radio Disney bubble-gum poppettes. Her uniqueness is gone.
In fairness, costume designer Natalie O’Brien outfits VanderWaal in dozens of adorable and wildly colorful outfits, each cuter and more vividly imaginative than the last. (The Los Angeles Times logo T-shirt Stargirl wears, at one point, is a deliberate nod to the Herald Tribune logo shirt Seberg wore in Breathless.)
It must be said, though, that this young woman of modest means has a stunningly large wardrobe.
As for the story…
Absent the Jerry Spinelli novel on which the first film was based, scripters Jordan Horowitz and Julia Hart — the latter also directed — have reached back to early 1940s Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney musicals, with a soupçon of 1960’s Pollyanna thrown in. But instead of “Hey kids, let’s put on a show,” this 21st century version is “Hey kids, let’s make a movie!”
That isn’t a bad idea, in and of itself, but Hart and Horowitz aren’t able to make their handling of said plot the slightest bit credible.
With the first film’s small-town Arizona setting behind them, Stargirl Caraway (VanderWaal) and her mother Ana (Judy Greer) have relocated in Los Angeles, where the latter has secured a job as a film costume designer. They move into a darling, bungalow-style apartment complex managed by Daphne (Nija Okoro) and George (Chris Williams), who couldn’t be more charming and welcoming.
The same is true of their younger son Evan (Elijah Richardson), who immediately hits it off with Stargirl; this must be one of the fastest friendships in cinema history. Evan is even further enchanted after hearing her sing.
The same cannot be said for Mr. Mitchell (Judd Hirsch), the grouchy ol’ coot who occupies the apartment directly below Stargirl and her mother; to him, singing is just noise, and it’s too loud.
Raise your hands, if you think Stargirl will charm the socks off him.
Indeed she does … and far too quickly.
(My eyes began to roll.)
Evan’s older brother Terrell (Tyrel Jackson Williams) works in a nightclub that features live music and a weekly open mic spotlight. Although Evan and Stargirl are underage, they slip in long enough for her to croon one ballad — a lovely a capella cover of Brian Wilson’s “Love and Mercy” — which impresses the audience, and most particularly Terrell.
Turns out he’s an aspiring filmmaker; he and his brother are collaborating on a “sizzle reel” for a film script written by Evan, which Terrell hopes to direct. And, golly gee, Stargirl — and her singing — would be just perfect for this promotional project.
I hate to sound mean-spirited, but the snark is justified by the contrivance and utter lack of sincerity, with which all this goes down. Hart and Horowitz’s happy-clappy dialogue is atrocious, and the relentlessly chirpy line deliveries don’t help; everybody smiles all the time. None of this is the slightest bit credible, which is particularly exasperating when recalling how sweet and genuine the first film was.
You know things are bad, when a film’s best performance comes from Chloe, Penelope and Phoebe, who play Stargirl’s pet rat, Cinnamon.
Moving on …
Mild dramatic tension surfaces when Stargirl recognizes that the nightclub’s habitual patron — whom Terrell hates to serve, because she’s always cranky — is none other than Roxanne Martel (Uma Thurman), a once-promising singer who cut one well-received album back in the day … and then disappeared from the music scene.
Stargirl grew up listening to that album, because her mother loved it so much. Terrell and Evan can’t believe this of the woman they refer to as “Table Six,” so Stargirl plays the album for them … and, golly gee, they both love it.
(Insert a heavenward gaze and long-suffering sigh, from Constant Companion.)
Naturally, Stargirl must Get To The Bottom Of This Mystery. Which she does, and goodness; Roxanne thaws even faster than Mr. Mitchell.
Thurman deserves credit, though, for a performance that feels reasonably authentic; she gives Roxanne more dramatic heft than Hart and Horowitz’s script deserves. Al Madrigal similarly does a nice job as Iggy, the nightclub’s sympathetic manager. Greer’s Ana also is reasonably convincing; her mother/daughter bond with VanderWaal has some nice touches.
Hirsch, alas, can’t similarly breathe life into Mr. Mitchell. It’s a shame to see such a talented actor cast adrift by such poor material.
Happily, VanderWaal truly comes alive when she sings; her delivery ranges from joyous to softly heartfelt, on covers of “Make Your Own Kind of Music” and “Dreaming,” and her own original, “Figure It Out.”
It’s a shame the movie keeps getting in the way of its music.
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