Review

Diary of a Teenage Girl

Things get awfully complicated for Charlotte (Kristen Wiig), Minnie (Bel Powley) and Monroe (Alexander Skarsgard) in "The Diary of a Teenage Girl," set in San Francisco in 1976.
Things get awfully complicated for Charlotte (Kristen Wiig), Minnie (Bel Powley) and Monroe (Alexander Skarsgard) in "The Diary of a Teenage Girl," set in San Francisco in 1976.

For most of its relatively brief (102 minutes) running time, first-time director Marielle Heller's adaptation of Phoebe Gloeckner's semi-autobiographical graphic novel -- The Diary of a Teenage Girl -- is a minor miracle of evocation. It really feels like a teen girl's diary, charged with a kicky un-curated quality. Watching it, we might experience some tingly, voyeuristic apprehension -- like maybe we shouldn't be watching.

It starts with a signal moment in a young girl's life. Minnie (Bel Powley) is 15 years old and just had sex for the first time. She's thrilled. "I had sex today," she excitedly tells her audio diary. And the movie allows her to bask in the sensation, to feel good about her experience. There's no overt shaming, no inner turmoil or ruefulness.

The Diary of a Teenage Girl

88 Cast: Bel Powley, Alexander Skarsgard, Kristen Wiig, Christopher Meloni, Margarita Levieva, Madeleine Waters, Abby Wait, Quinn Nagle, Austin Lyon, Miranda Bailey

Director: Marielle Heller

Rating: R, for strong sexual content including dialogue, graphic nudity, drug use, language and drinking, all involving teens

Running time: 102 minutes

Maybe because it's mid-'70s San Francisco, which is where and when what everybody thinks of the '60s really happened. When she tells a friend about her encounter, she's at an EST seminar. Turns out the guy is much older. And he's her mother's boyfriend, Monroe (Alexander Skarsgard). Were there no consequences, there would be no story.

It's not surprising that Monroe is a disingenuous jerk, a sexual predator who -- while he never evinces actual malice -- cares about nothing more than his gratification. But what's refreshing and novel about the film is that Minnie never thinks of herself as a victim. She's no Lolita; she's more than an idealized object of desire. What's different about The Diary of a Teenage Girl is that it doesn't automatically default to the standard position Hollywood films take -- that of the so-called "male gaze"-- but invites us to consider how Minnie sees herself. Which is, as she regularly and profanely asserts, is as a "woman." And while we might understand that she's not quite all that at 15, she's no empty-headed breakable little kid either. Her delusions are no sillier than those most of us express every day. She's not quite a full partner with Monroe in the illicit affair, but her eyes are wide open.

Good thing, because her family is one of those loose confederations that offers mainly the illusion of support. Her mother, Charlotte (a terrific Kristen Wiig), is an insecure woman who affects a free-spirited hippie persona in compensation for her habitual disappointment. Her little sister Gretel (Abby Wait) is still stranded in childhood and unequipped to serve as a confidant. The closest thing she has to a father, her mother's ex, Pascal (Christopher Meloni), lives in New York, and while he'd be happy to take her in, Minnie prefers to stay in San Francisco, partying with the adults.

It doesn't quite resolve, and the ending seems a little pat for what has up until then been a morally complex and brutally honest film. So a few points off -- but the film gets almost everything else right, from the period details and the soundtrack (T Rex, Mott the Hoople, Television and the Stooges) to the autumnal '70s color palette.

The Diary of a Teenage Girl is an audacious, winning debut -- for the director and the star (who has a few prior credits, but nothing more high profile than the British television series Benidorm). It seems likely we'll hear much more from both of them.

MovieStyle on 08/28/2015

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